


Fast Car; or: Maybe Together We Can Get Somewhere

by snowqueenlou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Disability, Geographical Realism, Good Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia is a Good Friend, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Handwavium, Mentions of Suicide, POV Derek Hale, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Post-Season/Series Finale, Recovery, Road Trip, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Temporary Character Death, mentions of past rape/non-con, not Scott friendly, not whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 128,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueenlou/pseuds/snowqueenlou
Summary: The final battle against Monroe goes horribly wrong. In the aftermath, the pack fractures, and for some of them things will never be the same.Excerpt:Derek stood and rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness, but instead of moving towards the door he stayed in place, looking at Stiles. He was so pale, but it was his stillness which was the most unsettling piece of all of this, so still his lightweight blanket lay undisturbed over his legs, his hospital gown pulled askew to accommodate the lines and monitors that were attached to him. Fifteen days, no change. Not for the first time Derek wished he could do anything other than just sitting here, waiting for something to be different, for him to wake up, for it to all be a big misunderstanding.“Son?”Derek startled and turned towards Noah who was watching him, concern etched on his face.“Go home for a few hours. If anything changes, you’ll be my first call I swear.”
Relationships: Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Sheriff Stilinski
Comments: 522
Kudos: 612





	1. Chapter 1

The end, when it came, was a clusterfuck. Kate and Gerard were dead, really dead this time. One of the few things that had worked in their favor to contain the spread of battle was the natural resistance of people to believe in the supernatural, and the influence of the Hunter Council on media outlets to frame both Gerard Argent and Tamora Monroe’s actions as terrorist attacks from a small band of home-grown religious extremists. 

Malia and Derek tracked Monroe to the edge of an Ancestral Pueblo site, where they called in the rest of them and waited for backup to arrive. Chris Argent was the first on site, bringing with him Stiles, Lydia Martin and Jordan Parrish, armed to the teeth with weaponry and medical supplies. Braeden joined them, allied unexpectedly with Peter Hale, and driving an armored van. 

They set up a makeshift command center in the back of Braeden’s vehicle, Parrish and Argent laying out the plan and assigning roles to those already assembled. Their official objective was to capture and turn them over to the hunter’s alliance for judgment, though more than one of them intended to make sure Monroe would never get the chance to be a problem again. 

Initial scouting confirmed that they were there, Malia having gotten within a few hundred yards downwind of their encampment, which she estimated at fewer than ten people. Derek was able to confirm the recent passage of only two vehicles. 

Scott, Liam, and Theo arrived soon after. _‘No killing, capture only,’_ the Alpha had proclaimed, even though Monroe’s militia had devastated packs and other supernaturals all throughout California and the southwest, and over the last five months, Scott’s pack had swelled with traumatized survivors of Monroe’s attacks. Braeden and Peter exchanged a grim look at the order. 

Monroe and her few remaining loyalists were suspected to be setting up a defense on the sacred ground, and as tempting as it was to just go in and get her, the location was an effective deterrent against them simply driving onto federally protected land in a frontal attack. 

Now there was a nearly full moon rising in the clear dusk sky, and Scott’s pack and the others were waiting until full nightfall to go in, knowing that the strength of the shifters would be almost at its peak, their enhanced senses far superior to the extremists’ night vision technology. 

So they gathered, humans and werewolves, banshee and coyote, the Hunter and the hellhound, and waited in the chill dark stillness of the desert, for Argent to signal them to movement. 

Before that signal came, the wind picked up nearby, turning to a squall in minutes. As they watched, lightning began flashing from the ground to the sky, unnatural in its color and duration. As the dust and sand swirled and blew in their direction, four figures began to coalesce out of the haze, four women dressed in leathers and fur, in desert camouflage and armed with spear and sword. At their forefront, one woman advanced on them, light and spark glinting off the belt at her waist, electricity crackling from the sword in her hand and the knife at her thigh. Her eyes glowed incandescently orange in the blackness of the night, her dark hair swirling around her in the wind, the luminous specter of a fox rising above. 

The four women stalked past them silently, the only recognition being the turn of the familiar fox in their direction, and the dust cloud and lightning suddenly ceasing as they continued soundlessly toward the canyon ruins. The ground ran cracks of power ahead of their path, remaining smooth in their wake, and as all four passed by, the Skin-walkers turned and beckoned. 

They followed, the noise of their movements muffled in the breeze eddies that trailed the warriors. The four led them right into the ruins of a pueblo house, and they fanned out as their guides motioned them to stop. Looking down from this vantage, they could see their quarry, seven in all, tucked up behind the stone wall of a kiva, deep in an unnatural sleep. 

The Skin-walkers stepped forward lightly, dropping to the ground in the center of the kiva, drumming the end of their weapons hard on the earth. Monroe and her compatriots threw back their blankets and leapt to their feet, guns drawn, seconds too late, as the earth yawed wide from the divots made by the striking staves and spears, pulling Tamora Monroe and three of the others into the ground. The three remaining, two adults and one teenage boy, threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. 

Three of the Skin-walkers followed their prey down into the clay, but one remained. She turned to them, orange glow fading from her eyes, and as Chris, Theo, and Braeden stepped forward to secure their prisoners, Kira’s mud and paint streaked face split in a delighted smile, as she squealed and tripped and dashed her way to embrace Malia and Lydia. Several of them watched the joyous reunion, while Jordan and Derek turned away to begin securing their perimeter.

The euphoria of their success was shattered at a cry from Derek, “Stiles! NO!”

The entirety of their group turned as one in that moment, Malia ripping herself from the grip of the other two women to reach Stiles, as Derek did the same. Behind Stiles, one more of Monroe’s troops advanced at speed toward him, arm raised, moonlight shining off the metal rod grasped in his hand. Stiles spun towards his attacker, his arm upraised, the blow glancing off the bone of his forearm with a sickening crunch, but not enough to change the trajectory, which cracked into his temple with a killing force, and dropped him abruptly just as Malia reached the assailant. 

The man had only long enough to face her, before she was dangling part of his spine from a bloody hand, having ripped it all the way through the front of his neck. She then threw herself from there, across the stone circle, twisting into her coyote form as she ran, never stopping until she knocked the woman from Braeden’s grasp, tearing her throat out as she moved and killing her in one stroke, the woman’s blood painting her muzzle and fur in dark crimson. 

The scream of the banshee rent the air, as Derek skidded to his knees at the side of Stiles’ limp form, only to be set upon by one last fighter, who never stood a chance. Before he even started his downward swing, Derek caught his arm, pulled it out wide, and thrust his claws up through the man’s abdomen, deep into the viscera, raking through the soft organs. The man dropped instantly, blood pumping once, twice, from the torn artery, before Derek shoved him aside face down in the dirt. He turned back then, blood covered, to see Stiles just as still on the ground. He wanted to gather him into his arms and run, far away so none of the others could see him like this, so nobody else could have him. 

For the space of one breath, everything was silent in the desert.

Malia spun around with a coyote’s scream, eyes flashing electric blue, to where Scott shielded the last of the two terrorists held at the end of Argent’s gun, his own eyes burning with power as he roared to stop her attack. Scott turned back in time only to see both of them falling dead to the ground and Peter standing over them, blood dripping from his claws, fangs bared in a vicious snarl. Malia leapt away, once more shifting as she moved, and fell to human knees, next to her cousin where he bent over Stiles’ lifeless form. She reached for him, but then Lydia was there, wrapping her arms around the coyote, keeping her from touching his body, and Kira was at Derek’s back, wrapping both arms around his shoulders, whispering, _“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”_

Then the others were there, Liam on his knees in tears, with Theo crowded up behind, a hand of comfort at his back. Braeden stood over them, shotgun at the ready, on guard against all further threats, Peter coming in to defend the opposite direction. Scott was next, and dropped to the ground beside Liam. He reached forward and gently took hold of Stiles’ booted foot, straightening his leg from where it was bent awkwardly up. Scott’s gesture broke the spell, and each of them reached forward in their own way to touch his body. Derek collapsed forward until his forehead rested on Stiles’ chest, over his heart, breath shuddering through his body, as the sounds of their collective grief started to rise. 

Liam’s voice, choked with emotion, cut through the rest of them, demanding their attention. He had taken Stiles’ hand in his own, the only one of them in contact with his skin, the others having grasped him only through the layers of clothing he always wore. 

Black lines ran up the back of Liam’s hand, and continued up his forearm. A gasp ran through all of them, the other shifters scrabbling to push Stiles’ clothing back and reach his skin, all of them starting to draw his pain. Derek dropped back down to press his ear against Stiles’ chest, his breath catching as he finally heard his heart beating slow and weak. 

After that, it was controlled chaos as they raced to outrun the prediction of a banshee, and save their friend.


	2. Chapter 2

_Day fifteen_

He woke to the tap on his shoulder and the Sheriff waving the paper cup of coffee under his nose. Derek rubbed a hand over his face, scratching through his unruly beard, and took the coffee from him. Noah moved around the bed and took a seat facing Stiles, reaching forward to smooth the hair back from his forehead. 

“Hey, kiddo, time to wake up,” he said.

The area they’d shaved for surgery was starting to grow in again around the scar and staples, fuzzy in that way it was when he’d first found the two teenagers trespassing on Hale property. 

“He’s going to want to shave it all again,” Noah said quietly, his hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head. He rose from his seat just enough to place a gentle kiss on his son’s forehead, and Derek looked away from the intimacy of the family moment. 

After greeting his son, the Sheriff turned to Derek and started going through the questions that had become routine over the past two weeks.

“CBC?” 

“Not printed yet.”

“Melissa been in?” 

“Yes, about an hour ago. She left those for you,” Derek pointed at the small counter behind them where she’d left a couple of wrapped breakfast sandwiches.

Noah turned to see, then back to Derek giving him a stern look. “You need to eat something, Hale.” 

Derek stared at his hands, where they rested in his lap, until the Sheriff continued with their routine.

“What time is Lydia due?”

“Around nine.”

Noah nodded. “Okay Derek. I can stay until after she gets here, you go home, get some rest and shower. I’ll see you this evening.” 

Derek stood and rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness, but instead of moving towards the door he stayed in place, looking at Stiles. They had removed the bandages from his head, and the bruising was fading. His arm wasn’t in a cast because they’d had to use pins to repair his broken ulna. He was so pale, but it was his stillness which was the most unsettling piece of all of this, so still his lightweight blanket lay undisturbed over his legs, his hospital gown pulled askew to accommodate the lines and monitors that were attached to him. Fifteen days, no change. He grimaced at pain stimuli, and there was spontaneous eye movement, but that hadn’t changed much since the surgery. Not for the first time Derek wished he could do anything other than just sitting here, waiting for something to be different, for him to wake up, for it to all be a big misunderstanding.

“Son?”

Derek startled and turned towards Noah who was watching him, concern etched on his face. 

“Go home for a few hours. If anything changes, you’ll be my first call I swear.”

He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, then turned and walked out of the hospital room, scooping up one of the sandwiches on his way out the door.

In the parking garage, he walked over to the orange Shelby in the near corner facing the main entrance, not exactly inconspicuous, and tapped on the window. The man inside sat forward and lowered the window, removing his headphones. Derek could hear a podcast or something playing at low volume through the speakers. 

“Any change?”

Derek shook his head, and handed him the sandwich. Peter sniffed it and smiled, unwrapping it to take a bite. He looked tired too, not his typical suave, slicked back appearance. They all were caught in a holding pattern when they should have been savoring the peace that followed the takedown of the last of Monroe’s militia. 

“Tell Melissa I said thank you,” Peter said. “When are you back?” 

“Soon, how long are you here?”

“Until somebody arrives to take my place.” 

Derek nodded, and turned to go. Peter slid his headphones back on, raising the window. 

Peter, Malia, Chris Argent and the Dunbar kid had been taking shifts watching the hospital since Stiles was transferred back to Beacon Hills Memorial a week and a half ago. There was always a wolf or a hunter close by, on the slim chance that any stray zealots turned up to finish their objective. Watching the front door here at BH Memorial was more of a token than anything else, an on-site presence. Stiles was never alone. The important thing was there was always back up a short distance away.

It was the only reason Derek could drag himself away from his post at Stiles’ bedside or the waiting area on that floor. At the first hospital, he hadn’t left once in the entire four days they were there, his room at the hotel going unused while he stood guard, sleeping only when his uncle or cousin was there to keep watch in his stead.

He was back in two hours, parking his SUV in the spot across from Peter, who stepped out of his car and leaned against the railing so he could glare at Derek, as he got out of the truck. 

“You can’t help him if you drain yourself too far, nephew,” he said quietly. Derek sagged with fatigue against the open door, before reaching over to pick up two paper cups from the console. He handed one to Peter, who took the lid off and inhaled deeply before taking a sip.  
  
“Malia’s here next?” 

“Scott’s pup,” Peter replied. “I’m meeting Malia for brunch. She'll be in later to see him before her watch.”

“And you, still just staying out here?” the younger man asked.

“The Sheriff may still be having ill-conceived ideas. I’d rather avoid him.”

He nodded, and started to head into the hospital. Peter was getting back into his car when Derek stopped and turned back. “He trusts you to protect him, that’s why he asked.”

Peter’s eyes flashed bright blue, and his face was grim as he answered, “What do you think I’m doing?”  
  
Derek watched him for a moment, until his eyes returned to their human blue. In the brighter light, he looked haggard in a way that was unusual for a werewolf. Deep lines next to his mouth, dark circles under his eyes, and a general dullness to his skin, and he wondered briefly how much sleep his uncle was getting, how long he was planning to keep up this watch.

“Why does it bother you?” Derek asks.

“He’s not my family. He’s not even my pack.” Derek could hear the lie, and Peter pressed his lips together in a thin line like he wanted to say something else. 

“I don’t think that matters, you should come in and see him.” Derek said softly.

“I’m already doing what they need me to do,” Peter answered flatly. “I’m keeping them safe.” 

Derek gave him a weary look. Peter avoided eye contact, and there was something deeply wrong with his world when his uncle wasn’t full of sass and confrontation. Derek didn’t know why he was pushing this. After fifteen days waiting for something to change, for the rest of them to walk away and go back to their regular lives, he wanted to know why Peter was still here, and seemed to have no intention of going anywhere else. 

“Maybe they need more from you than just standing guard in a hospital parking garage.” 

Peter jerked back as if shocked, then leaned into Derek’s space and roared, “Well, maybe I can’t watch another man lose what little remains of his entire family!” He crushed the cup he still held, and hot tea ran over his hand and dripped onto the ground.

A car alarm nearby started blaring. They held one another’s gaze for a moment, and for a fleeting second a look of grief came over Peter’s face. He tipped the rest of the cup onto the ground and turned away, “Just go inside, Derek. You’re expected.” Derek stood there waiting until Peter turned back around, a question on his face, then he handed him his untouched cup of tea. He took it with a nod, and Derek turned away to head into the hospital.

He picked up a cup of cafeteria coffee on his way up, since he’d given away his tea, and stopped outside the door to Stiles’ room. He heard Lydia as she talked quietly to Stiles and he couldn’t help listening in as she told him how much she loved him, and how when he woke up, they were both going to leave this town and never look back. Derek let his thoughts wander after that as he tried not to overhear anything else. He sat down on a chair in the hallway, and dozed off. He was awakened by Lydia removing his still-warm cup from his grip. 

“You’ll spill,” she said, and took his hand to pull him from the chair and into Stiles’ room. She pushed him into the chair next to the bed, handed him printed updates, told him about a new cannula they’d set that morning, and pointed out that a physical therapist was scheduled to come in later for an evaluation. 

Lydia sat back down in a chair across the room, arranged a fuzzy blanket around her and took a neurology textbook from her tote bag. The room was cool and the lights were kept low except for the reading lamp just over Lydia’s shoulder. Low stimulus environment, they’d been told, it’s good for brain injury recovery. Talk to him, they said, it’s good for him to hear your voice. 

Words hadn’t come easy for him in years, and he didn’t know what to say.

Derek looked over the current reports, then he leaned forward to draw in a deep breath. Other than the stink of hospitals, there’s no smell of infection. His thoughts drifted to what Stiles would think of Derek being here all the time, seeing him helpless like this. He would hate it, Derek knew. Not just the helplessness, but the exposure, he kept so much of himself covered up. The sheriff had looked pained when he’d arrived at the Hospital in Utah, the nearest facility equipped to deal with a serious closed head trauma. He’d seen him then, dressed only in a thin gown, several new and healing scars visible from some of the battles of the last few months. Derek thought about the layers of t-shirts and flannels and hoodies, and now they were moving his legs and bending his fingers and sticking sensors all over him with only the merest regard for his modesty.

Derek wished he would wake up and call him a creeper wolf. He wished he would wake up and call him ‘dude’ and make fun of his eyebrows. He wished he would wake up. 

He drifted in and out of a nap for a while to the sound of Lydia reading aloud from the textbook. It wasn’t the most relaxing subject, but her voice was soothing. At some point, he’d reached out and taken hold of Stiles’ wrist, drawing away some residual pain between his own brief naps. Sometime in the late afternoon, a nurse arrived to check his vitals and examine the new cannula and his healing incisions. When she was finished and had gone, Lydia also stood up and gathered her things. She stepped up to Stiles’ side and gently stroked his cheek and his forehead, she wet a sponge and smoothed it over his chapped lips, then pressed a lipstick kiss to his still bruised temple.

“When I see you tomorrow, I want to see those beautiful eyes, okay?” When she straightened, Derek could see tears welling up in her eyes. 

Before she left for the day, she told Derek to let the Sheriff know she wouldn’t be back until late afternoon the next day, since she needed to drive down to the University for a placement exam in the morning. Lydia paused and left a kiss on Derek’s cheek as well, before leaving, her high heels tap-tapping their quick rhythm on the floor as she exited.

Fifteen days, and Stiles was in a coma, and Derek had memorized every last word of the chart that the Sheriff asked to be printed out each morning. He understood it too, the questions that Lydia patiently researched and answered had given them a layperson’s crash course in head injuries, the Glasgow coma scale, trauma scores, and what they could potentially expect from recovery. They also learned some disturbing statistics about comas that persisted, which they all tried hard to ignore. 

For a full day at the first hospital, the doctors would only speak with Noah about Stiles’ condition, until he was able to file papers allowing both Lydia and Derek to receive health information. The Sheriff shocked them both when he also asked Peter to be a medical contact. The werewolf had shown his fangs for a split second, and answered, “I should have turned him when I had the chance,” before walking away from them, shoulders bowed with none of his characteristic swagger. After that, he’d refused to visit, but a few of the medical assistants confided that he seemed to have made camp in one of the smaller waiting areas on the main floor. 

Derek closed his eyes, and rested his head in his hands, thinking back over all that had happened. He remembered Scott and Jordan tearing the back seat from Argent’s SUV, and shifting Stiles carefully onto the flat surface and securing him. Then there was the drive at breakneck speed in Braeden’s transport van, the wolves plus Malia bracing their makeshift spineboard to hold it steady. There was a team waiting when they arrived at the tiny reservation hospital, then they took Stiles away while Derek and the others stood by helplessly as the doctors rushed to stabilize him for the arriving LifeFlight. He remembered the agony of listening in as the medics wheeled him out and loaded him on the helicopter, only Parrish allowed to accompany them, and only because of his certification as a field medic. 

Then were the four endless days of waiting, in a hospital far from home, and he remembered thinking how wrong it felt to have Stiles tended by nurses that were not Ms. McCall, a doctor that was not Liam’s stepdad. Some of their group had gone home, but the rest had hotel rooms paid for by Peter, where they waited for news of any change. Noah arrived while Stiles was still in surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain from swelling. The surgeon came out shortly after and Derek listened in while she told the Sheriff that the inflammation so far had been less severe than they were expecting and they had avoided having to do a craniectomy, but there were complications from seizures and they’d had to shock his heart twice when he’d gone asystolic afterward. 

The only parts he understood were that Stiles might not wake up, and that they didn’t know what limitations he might have when he did. They kept saying they’d have to wait and see.

The only part he remembered feeling was the warm press of Lydia Martin against his side grounding him to his humanity, holding him together with the sheer force of her will when all he wanted to do was shift and run, and howl out his rage and fear.

Now, fifteen days later, they were back in Beacon Hills Memorial, the nurse in critical care handpicked by Ms. McCall, just down the hall from where his uncle had spent six years in his own coma. 

There was a knock on the door, and Malia walked in. She sat and talked to Stiles for a few minutes, stood and gave him a careful hug, scented him as if she could wipe off the hospital smell, then left to take her turn at watch. The Sheriff came in after that and mentioned passing Malia on the way in from the garage. Noah handed Derek food, and he held it in his lap, unwrapped. 

“He isn’t going to be happy with you when he wakes up. You look terrible, you need food and sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Derek replied.

Noah gave him a look full of skepticism, and said, “I expect you to keep yourself in good enough condition to help out when he gets out of here.” His voice was coarse with his own worry and fatigue, but his clothing was clean and pressed, he was clean shaven and his hair neatly trimmed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go home, Hale. For one night. Eat a real meal and get some sleep, do something about your...” Noah made a vague motion towards his beard, and continued, “you look like Grizzly Adams.”

Derek dragged himself back to Peter’s condo, where he’d been staying since he came back months ago to help with Monroe. He ate some leftovers before falling asleep face down on the bed on top of the quilt. He slept fitfully, and woke shivering from a dream full of blood and dust and lifeless amber eyes. 

* * *

_Day sixteen_

He changed his shirt and came out of the bedroom to find Peter across the main room, taking something out of the oven.

“What time is it?” Derek yawns.

“Past eleven.” 

“Shit.” Derek hustled to grab his jacket and keys, but Peter blocked his way before he could leave. Derek growled at him. 

“Ah ah, nephew. Sit, eat. He’ll still be there and you need protein and a shower. And maybe do something about the dead badger on your face.” Derek glared at his uncle, who sneered back, but he sat and looked over the plate Peter had set out. Reluctantly, he started eating and after a few bites his hunger kicked in and he shoveled the rest of the food down gracelessly. 

When he was done, Peter took the plate and pushed him back toward the bedroom and en suite bathroom, where he finally showered and trimmed his beard. He was still bone-weary, his fatigue showing in the shadows under his eyes and the gauntness of his face, but he felt marginally better.

When he returned to the living room, dressed in fresh clothing, Peter was waiting, and motioned to him to sit. It was probably going to be faster to listen to whatever Peter wanted to say than to argue, so he sat down and looked at him expectantly.

Peter clenched his jaw and looked away, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say, “How long are you prepared to keep this up?”

He didn’t think that deserved an answer, so instead he waited until Peter sat back and softened.

“Okay, nephew,” he started, “since you’re doing this, just keep talking to him.” 

Derek could feel his mouth twisting up in anguish because Peter had hit his current problem squarely. He could be there as much as possible, but he didn’t know _how_ to talk to him when he can’t answer back. He blinked rapidly to keep from tearing up. “I’m not going anywhere.” He watched Peter’s expression, he seemed very far away in his own head. 

“Why do you care so much, Peter?” he asked softly.

“I care a reasonable amount.”

“You don’t, you care like he’s _ours ._ ” Derek felt like he was begging for something to make sense. 

Peter’s eyes glowed for a second before he raised his voice, “He should have been!” then lower, “I made a mistake.”

Derek looked at him and felt a trickle of compassion, his uncle was rarely remorseful about anything. Maybe Laura, he’d never asked. “You didn’t,” he replied, “Stiles didn’t want the bite.” 

“What does that _matter_ ? He would have still been _alive_!” Peter cried out. 

There was a horrified silence between the two of them, Derek stared at his uncle with wide eyes, mouth open.

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry nephew, I don’t know what I’m thinking.” He raised a hand to cover his eyes, and Derek was surprised to see it was trembling. 

“We’re all falling apart here, and it’s only been two weeks. What are you going to do if he doesn’t wake up?” Peter asked.

“He’ll wake up,” Derek said. It was the only outcome he could consider.

Peter looked at him through the space of a few breaths. 

“Then keep talking to him,” he said again, “let him know you’re there in the room with him. If any part of him is awake in there, he’ll need to know that.”

“You could still come in and see him,” Derek said.

“I can’t.” Peter looked away, and Derek very carefully tried not to think at all about his uncle, lying for years in a bed in that same ward, trapped and alone.

He stood and picked up his jacket and keys, but paused at the open door. “We should have stayed,” he spit out, “After the... We shouldn’t have run,” he said softly, and he walked out letting the door click closed behind him, not waiting to hear his uncle’s response, if he had one.

* * *

Derek parked and could see that Argent was already there in the garage, facing the main entrance. Scott was in the passenger seat with a fast food bag on the dashboard. Derek raised a hand in greeting and walked over to the driver’s window. 

“Have you been in already?” 

Scott gave him a cheerful smile, “Yeah dude, he’s sleeping though.”

Derek’s heart did a hard flip and his gaze jerked to Chris who smiled sadly and shook his head. Scott continued on, as if all of this was normal, “I got work in a few hours so I can’t stay, but Lyds is in there hanging out. She looks good, man. So do you!”

Derek ran a hand over his freshly trimmed stubble and marveled, not for the first time, at how oblivious Scott could be. He knew he looked like death warmed over. 

As Derek turned to go, Scott leaned over and said brightly, “Hey man, I know you’re just killing time around here, you’re probably bored, so maybe you could take Lydia out for something fun, you know, cheer her up a little.” 

He kept walking, not trusting himself with a response. 

Behind him, he heard Chris say, “Scott.”

And Scott’s response, “What? It’s not like he needs to be here all the time, Stiles isn’t even his pack.” 

* * *

It was the sixteenth day and it felt like forever.

When he walked into Stiles’ room, Lydia was standing by the window, papers spread out along the ledge. A couple of medical textbooks lay open on the desk, and her laptop was open in the chair, screen dark. 

Lydia was murmuring to herself, flipping a pen in her fingers. Her makeup was smudged, lipstick mostly bitten off. She was also alone. 

“I thought Malia was here this morning,” Derek said. Lydia turned and blinked at him, then went back to her papers.

“Sent her home. She was hovering, it was irritating.”

He frowned, then moved closer and started leafing through the top papers. “Did something happen?”

She shook her head, and started to slap his hand away, “Don’t touch those.”

“Lydia,” he spoke carefully, “How long have you been here?”

“Hmmm, before seven.”

“But your exam?” 

“Rescheduled,” she bit out. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Derek asked, worried.

“That is not your concern, Derek Hale…” she snapped, then cut herself off. Lydia sat and lowered her head to rest on the pile of books in front of her. Derek could hear her sniffling. “Sorry,” she said.

He moved to her side and stroked a hand over the top of her head in comfort, while she pulled herself back together a bit. 

“Scott was in here.” 

“Yes, for about 4 minutes,” she replied, looking up at him. “He babbled something about Call of Duty and curly fries, and told Stiles he looked like he was almost better and he’d bring a Switch and some games next time, then he left.”

Derek barely restrained a growl, although from Lydia's expression he could guess he hadn’t quite succeeded.

“Sixteen days,” Lydia said, almost a whisper. 

“Yes.”

Lydia dabbed at the tear tracks and smudged makeup under her eyes, then blew her nose. After a moment she said softly, “I think I was hoping that the two week mark would be when he’d magically wake up. Then all day yesterday I kept telling myself ‘fourteen days from surgery, this will be the day.’” Her voice caught and she stumbled over the last few words.

Derek sat down heavily in the chair at the head of the bed and brushed a hand gently down the uninjured side of Stiles’ face, over his neck and exposed shoulder where the hospital gown had dragged down. He tugged the neck of the gown up to cover him a little more. 

Lydia watched while he did this, then whispered, “What do we do?”

“I don’t know. Wait. Keep being here.”

She came to his side then, paused, and he sat back and opened his arms. Lydia crawled into his lap, and clutched the front of his shirt like she could crawl into his chest, and started crying bitterly, almost silently. He buried his face in her hair, held on tightly with one arm while he ran a soothing hand up and down her back, over her hair, scenting her like she’s his pack, like he used to do with Cora when she was very small, until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep. That’s how the sheriff found them when he arrived a couple of hours later. 

Derek cupped a hand around the side of her head, and whispered, “Don’t wake her,” just as she woke anyways. She pushed herself away from Derek, frowning when she saw the wrinkles and the last remnants of her mascara and lipstick ground into his damp shirt. He let his hands fall to the side, releasing her from his embrace, and she rose and went to Noah, hugging him hard, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m a mess, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Lydia,” the Sheriff pulled away just enough to raise his hands to cup her face, “We’re all his family, and I’m so grateful you’ve been here.”

She picked up everything scattered all around, and Derek helped. After she left, both men sat back down. Noah scooted his chair around to face his son, took his hand and started stroking rhythmically up and down his bare arm. Derek watched, the movement soothing him into a sleepy not-quite doze. 

Derek came back into full wakefulness at the sound of Noah’s voice. His tone was confessional as he talked and talked, not to Stiles, or even to Derek, exactly, more like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He talked about Claudia in the hospital, how much he loved her and how her delusions and fits of rage almost broke him. How at the end of her illness, he’d started drinking to escape, then just kept on drinking heavily after she was gone, night after night until he could fall asleep in a stupor. 

At some point, he started holding Derek’s gaze, like he needed him personally to know. He told Derek how his eight year old son tried to pick up the pieces by doing all the cleaning, all the cooking, while Noah just did all the drinking. Then how Melissa came and took Stiles away one day and gave him an ultimatum to clean up his act. He told him he got the drinking under control, but threw himself into work, taking extra shifts, working cold cases in his spare time, and how he only got busier once he was elected Sheriff. 

“We never talked about her, he was just a little kid and I spent so much time just not being there for him,” he said, sorrowfully.

“You’re not being punished, sir,” Derek finally replied.

“I know that, Hale. Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been there. I should have gone with all of you, and had my son’s back for once.”

They sat there quietly, the previous words settled between them, both men watching the shallow rise and fall of Stiles’ breathing, and the small movements of his fingers.

“Do you know what he did when the Skin-walkers led us into those ruins?”

Noah turned to him.

“He marched right into the middle of it all with that goddamn bat over his shoulder, and took up his position right behind the scariest looking one. Like he, personally, was going to be _her_ backup.”

Noah choked out a wet laugh. “Of course he did.” 

“He’ll wake up, I know it.”

“He has to. If he doesn’t, what do I have left?”

* * *

_Day seventeen_

Derek sat forward leaning against the bed, one of Stiles’ hands clasped between both of his and pressed up against his lips. Some little part of his mind was saying maybe he could annoy Stiles into waking up.

Liam was deeply asleep in the other chair, in a contorted pile the way very tired teenage boys seemed to prefer. Lydia was going to help him study for his final math exam later, but at the moment, his math book was face down on the floor and he was grumbling in his sleep.

Derek was so intensely focused on Stiles that he didn’t hear Lydia’s approach until she cleared her throat from the doorway, startling him enough that he wolfed out a little bit. He dropped the hand he was holding, and jumped up out of his seat, jerked both of his own hands behind his back for a second, before crossing his arms over his chest instead. Embarrassed, he turned to scowl at Lydia, but she was looking at Liam, a small smile tugging at her lips. Liam hadn’t even twitched.

“Somebody’s got to get that boy some better how-to-be-a-werewolf training. Look at him, he‘s so bad at this,” she said. 

Derek refocused his scowl on Liam and said, “I could talk to somebody.”

“Not your job, Derek,” she replied. 

He moved aside and motioned for her to take his chair at the head of the bed. Lydia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, head tilted to the side, then nodded and sat down, taking Stiles’ hand in her own and greeting him softly. 

After standing there for another minute or two, he picked up the book he’d brought with him several days ago but wasn’t really reading, and left the room. He went down to the family waiting area, the one at the far end of the floor, to make it difficult to listen in to whatever Lydia was saying. The nurses all told them that coma patients can hear when the people they love are talking, but listening to Lydia talk to him was difficult. 

* * *

Lydia found him there when it was time for her to leave. His book was open but unread on his lap, and he was staring out the dirty window. She sat down next to him and reached out to take his hand. It was nice, but also he felt sort of numb. 

She gave his hand a slight squeeze and asked, “Why do you always do that?” 

He looked over at her then, a question on his face. 

“Yield your chair to me, move aside, stop touching him as soon as I’m there? You do it every time.” 

Her face was very earnest. He felt trapped, and held very still and averted his eyes.

Lydia sighed. “I love him…” and Derek interrupted her, “I know.” 

“Shut up,” she said, “Let me finish.” 

He waited while the woman in front of him seemed to gather her thoughts. “We broke up months ago,” she paused.

“You’re here now,” he responded when it looked like she wasn’t going to continue.

“Yes I am, you numpty,” she snapped, but there was no heat in it, “because I love him. And he loves me. And you,” she squeezed his hand hard and bent forward to try and catch his eyes again, “you would do _anything_ for him.”

“Yes,” Derek’s voice was barely a whisper of air, but he felt like he owed her the truth about his feelings.

Lydia made a noise of approval, “I wouldn’t, I can’t, not even for him. And I’m going back to Berkeley full-time in a few weeks. I have labs I can’t miss if I’m going to keep my scholarships.”

Derek felt a jolt of shock run through him, he was sure she felt it through their joined hands, but she didn’t let go. 

“He’s my dearest friend, Derek. But I can’t stay here in this town, it’s killing me.” He finally turned to look her in the eyes. Her expression was desperate, her eyes huge and shiny with unshed tears.

Derek frowned, not having any idea how to respond to this new information. He didn’t understand how he could have gotten it all wrong. Stiles was going to be devastated, and Derek ached for him. 

“Do you love him?” Lydia pulled his attention back to her, and waited patiently for him to answer.

“Yes,” he said, but so softly.

“Are you in love with him?”

Derek pulled his hand away from hers, and stared at her, but he didn't answer right away, even if his eyes burned with his own unshed tears. Lydia moved into his space then and hugged him, her words muffled into his chest, “Good. I’m so glad. He needs you.” 

“He’s my anchor,” he whispered against the crown of her head.

She drew back sniffling, and smiled at him. “You’re an idiot. You think I didn’t know that?”

“If… “ she stopped herself, “When. _When_ he’s better, you take him and you leave this place too.” 

* * *

Derek took the stairs to the roof, he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the hospital after the conversation with Lydia, he just needed a few minutes away from the machines and the anxiety, to get control over himself.

Melissa was there though, sitting against the wall and she was quite obviously crying. He walked over to her slowly, sat down on the concrete next to her and tentatively hugged her to his side. 

She smiled at him crookedly, and said, “Sometimes you gotta cry it out.” He said nothing, and she curled a little closer into his side.

“You’re a good man, Derek," she gruffed out through her tears.

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. I see you every day taking care of them.” 

“I don't do anything," Derek protested.

Melissa shimmied away from his side and around to look at him. “Don’t say that. You do. Noah trusts you. He trusts you to look after his precious boy. That’s everything. You’re the reason he’s able to leave here, go into the office, get some sleep. If you weren’t here there’d be two Stilinski men in hospital beds because Noah would run himself right into the ground.”

Derek kept quiet, she was still talking to him, and he knew he should be paying attention, but he was so tired and the words were running together. He watched her as she pulled herself back together, wiped her eyes on the underside of her scrubs top, got up off the ground and brushed the rooftop debris from her pants. 

"Okay mister, do I look all put back together and ready to go play happy nurse?" He squinted up at her and tried to smile. 

She smiled sadly at him in response, and crouched down in front of him placing her hand over his where it rested on one knee. “Stiles is a fighter," she said. "He’s going to come back to us. He'll wake up.” 

Derek held her eyes until she seemed satisfied that he heard her, then she headed back inside. _‘He’ll wake up._ ’ He kept saying it to everybody else, but this was the first time somebody had said it to him.

He stayed by himself on the roof long after Melissa had gone, sitting on the ground and doing nothing more than listening to the sirens of vehicles driving up to emergency, and the far away voices of people walking around below.

He sat there alone for a long time, completely wrung out, until he dropped his head to his arms and sobbed.

* * *

_Day eighteen_

Malia had been sitting for over an hour, just staring at Stiles’ face. More of a glare than a stare, which Derek had also been accused of more than once. It might have been the most obvious way they were related. For the last several minutes she’d been growling very quietly. He wasn’t sure she knew she was doing it. She got up suddenly and stalked out of the room, yanking the door open and jerking it behind her as if she could slam it in spite of its hydraulic hinge. It fell closed slowly and before it did, Derek heard a sharp snarl. 

He didn’t want to go after her, he didn’t want to risk Stiles’ waking up to find nobody waiting for him. Except he would probably like it even less if he woke up to find out that Malia had wolfed out - well, ‘coyote’ he’d point out - on one of the nurses.

Malia was in the private family room, she was pacing in tight little circles. Her control, which had been so good through all of the tracking of Monroe and everything else this town had thrown at them, was slipping.

She turned on him when he walked into the room and shut the door behind them, her face inches from his, half in her beta shift. “Claws are useless, magic is useless, everything is useless!” she cried, “What are you going to do if he doesn’t wake up Derek? Are you going to stay here forever?” She was panting from the effort to remain in human form.

“I won’t,” she growled through a mouthful of fangs, when he didn’t reply, “I can’t. I’ll go back to the forest.” 

Derek looked at his cousin passively. Way in the back of his mind, his own fear rattled, his own doubt and desperation howled, it made him itch to shift and run away into the forest. He couldn’t let himself feel that right now.

“Do you want me to call Scott?”

She gave him a look of disgust, “We broke up.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Malia scowled.

“He kept asking me why I had to kill those people and asking if I was sorry. Kept telling me we don’t have to be killers. Said his trust had to be earned.”

“I’m sorry, you shouldn't have had to kill them, I should have...” 

She cut him off, growling again, low and vicious, “I would have killed a hundred of them and felt no regret.” Tears ran from the outside corners of both eyes, her expression furious and wounded, lips pulled back from her teeth. “What are we going to do, Derek?” 

He didn’t know why people kept asking him that question. He’d do anything, but there was nothing to be done but wait. 

“I wanna shift and climb up onto his bed and cuddle him, how stupid is that? But I’m afraid I’ll accidentally claw a tube or move the wrong wire or something and hurt him."

“I know Malia, it's our instinct.” She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, tucked her nose into the groove above his collarbone and snuffled pitifully. “I’d trade this whole fucking pack for Stiles.” He half laughed as she added. “Well maybe not you. Or Lydia. But the rest of them.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

* * *

_Day Nineteen_

He woke, head on the bed at Stiles’ hip facing the door. Something had caught his attention in his sleep. A noise, or an odor, maybe a movement. He opened his eyes to see the door was still mostly closed. His nostrils flared but all he could smell was the sick-pain-disinfectant-medicine odor that was the same in all hospitals. He sighed, taking note of the stiffness of his muscles, he must have dozed off hours ago, it was still early, the light coming through the window the muted warm violet of the sun just starting to rise. 

He felt it then, a tickling through his hair on the back of his neck, rhythmic, deliberate, back and forth. He stilled, his heart starting thumping so hard he could feel it in his throat and his ears, but nothing could have made him miss the sounds.

“Derrr… der,” hoarse and crackling, not even a full word, but _there_ , and when he finally raised his head and turned to look, Stiles’ eyes were open.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical realism is not my thing, so going forward there will be a lot of handwavium for brain injury and a mishmash of symptoms. I read a bunch of brain injury papers before throwing my hands up and making up a bunch of crap. I'm no Lydia. ;)
> 
> You can thank pdxtrent for all the angst, because i sent over this chapter when I finished at 2500 words, and he sent it back and said it needed more. So I added another 4k words of people talking at poor Derek. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my motivation, please don't be shy. 
> 
> p.s., we're putting the finishing touches on the next chapter of Nemeton's Shade, so soon, verrrrrry soooooon.


	3. Chapter 3

_Day nineteen_

Derek froze, holding Stiles’ gaze for a few seconds. His eyes were barely open, but when Derek leaned closer, Stiles definitely tracked the movement. He was terrified to blink for fear it wasn’t real, so without looking away, he reached for the call button to summon the nurse. He wasn’t sure how much time elapsed before the door swung open, and instead of the nurse, he heard Peter’s voice asking urgently, “What happened?” Derek pointed a shaking finger at Stiles, and behind him he heard Peter whisper, “Stiles.” 

One of the medical staff bustled into the room right behind Peter, asking him to step out of the room, but both of them only backed up to the wall. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles’ face, and he could feel his control slipping. His gums tingled where his fangs would drop, his claws were already half-way out and he concealed his hands from the nurses behind his back. Nobody was looking at him while they worked around the bed, but if they had, they might have caught a glimpse of his true eyes flickering blue. Peter took hold of his arm and pushed his sleeve up to lay a hand on his forearm, which he scarcely noticed, but he began to regain his control, pulling his claws and eyes all the way back to their human form.

They watched the medical team check vitals, talking to Stiles and going through some reflex tests and he didn’t know what else. Stiles’ eyes drifted closed, then cracked open again looking around the room. 

Beside him, Peter was on his phone, sending and receiving text messages, which Derek was grateful for because he could barely breathe, nevermind send a coherent text. Stiles eyes closed again and didn’t reopen, and for a moment Derek was horror-stricken that this was all they were going to get, but then Ms. McCall was there on the other side of Peter, watching the monitors and assuring them quietly, gently that he was just sleeping.  
  
“It’s a very good sign, Derek,” she said. 

Derek nodded, he couldn’t stop nodding, and his cheeks were wet. 

"His dad?” he asked quietly. They were still standing against the wall, and he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Stiles. Two of the medical assistants finished whatever tasks they had and left the room, leaving just one person working over Stiles. 

“Nothing yet.” 

Lydia was supposed to be down at Berkeley, taking her postponed test. “Lydia…” he whispered to Peter, “he needs Lydia, she’s taking that test.” 

“She was on her way, she answered my messages. She’s coming back and will be here in an hour,” Peter replied. 

“Okay. Okay that’s good." 

He heard Peter’s phone vibrate with another incoming message, and he said, “Noah will be here in fifteen minutes.” He slid the phone back into his pocket and used the hand still on Derek’s arm to propel him into a chair that he pushed back up near the bed. 

“Sit down before you pass out,” Peter said. 

Derek sat forward and very carefully placed his hand over Stiles’ forearm, where it rested on the bed beside him. He looked up at the nurse then, a question on his brow. She smiled at him and said, “You can talk to him. He needs his rest, but hearing his family’s voices now that he’s awake is good for him. The doctor will be in shortly, probably around the same time his father arrives.” 

Derek nodded more, he felt like his head was going to bob off his neck, but he turned back to face Stiles again. 

“Stiles. Your dad will be here in a few minutes, and Lydia’s on her way.” 

Beside him, Peter slapped his hand to his forehead and shook his head. Derek glared at him, but refocused on Stiles. “I… um… we’ve been worried. I’m glad you’re awake.” He looked up at Peter again, helplessly, and Peter made a ‘go-on’ gesture. 

“It’s uh… it’s a pretty nice day, and I haven’t had breakfast yet, so um, I think when the others get here I can go get something then. I can walk because it’s not raining, it’s really very nice…” 

“Jesus christ, how is it you still haven’t learned how to be a human?” Peter whispered behind him, and he turned to panic-glare at his uncle.

“Maybe because I’m _not_ human, Peter!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically and stepped up to the edge of the bed. “Hello Stiles,” he said. “It’s Peter, and I really hope your memory is intact so it doesn’t concern you too much to hear my voice. You should know that you’re still human and have not been bitten,” both men glanced over at the heart rate monitor at that, but the numbers were steady. “Well, that’s probably a good sign,” he added. “Anyways, you should know my idiot nephew has been here often.” He paused, then said softly, “We all have. It’s good to have you back.”

He shrugged at his nephew. “See? Human. Easy.” 

Stiles’ eyes cracked open again, and once more he found Derek’s face, before looking around and semi-focusing on Peter, and then frowning slightly. Derek could see his throat working like he was trying to say something, but then he drifted off again.

Derek turned to look at Peter, he could feel the hopeful smile stretching across his face. “Twice!” Peter raised his hand and stroked down the side of Derek’s neck and over his shoulder which he squeezed tightly, before telling him, “I’m going to wait in the hall for Noah.” He touched Stiles’ foot through the blanket, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Derek sat there with his hand on Stiles’ arm, and reached out carefully to take some of his pain. There wasn’t much, even though he wasn’t on any pain medication. Still, Derek could see his face relax a little more. He wanted to slide his hand down and lace their fingers together, to brush his hair back from his forehead, something - anything to let him know how scared to death Derek had been that the desert was the last time he’d ever get to see him awake and alive. 

After what must have been fifteen minutes, he heard Noah’s voice in the corridor. And then he was there, and Derek was stepping back from the bed for the second time that morning, and Stiles was opening his eyes again, and Noah was crying.

Derek left the room and took the stairs to the ground floor, walked through the lobby and out into the fresh air. He didn’t remember the walk back to Peter’s place, or sitting down and falling into a heavy sleep, until Peter arrived several hours later to take him back to the hospital. 

* * *

News must have spread quickly that Stiles had finally come out of the coma, because by the time that Peter woke him to go back to the hospital, there were dozens of messages on his phone. It was overwhelming, so he slipped it back into his pocket to deal with later. 

The door to the room was open a bit, and he knocked as he entered, Peter on his heels. Lydia was sitting in the chair pushed up to the side of Stiles’ bed, and the sheriff was relaxed in the one at the foot of the hospital bed. She was holding his hand, and she turned and gave him the widest smile, full of dimples and sparkling eyes. Stiles looked like he was asleep again. She let go of his hand and sprung up from her chair, waving Derek over as she did so. 

“Come here, sit by him,” she said. 

Noah greeted them too, an equally brilliant smile on his face, “Derek, Peter. I was wondering what time you’d be back. You look like you got some rest, son.” 

Derek dipped his head in acknowledgement, scanning Stiles’ face for new information as he did, and leaning in to sniff him as subtly as he could. He smelled… the same, but more vivid somehow. 

He wanted to take his hand up the way Lydia had, but there was an audience, and he didn’t want to overstep, he wasn’t sure if Stiles would be okay with it anyways now that he was awake, but he wondered if it was safe to ease pain if he was suffering any. He registered his uncle speaking with the Sheriff, barely noticing when Peter reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. 

“Shall I deal with some of these messages for you?” Peter asked. Derek thinks he might have asked more than once. Derek didn’t understand why he’d gotten so many messages, there weren’t even that many of them in the pack and surely they would have called Noah, or Lydia. He turned back to Stiles, frowning, half listening to what the others were saying. Lydia was a warm hand at his back, standing behind him quietly like she was watching over them.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter said. “What are we telling them?” 

Noah replied, “Just that he’s awake, and seems to recognize us. And to please hold off on visitors for the next few days. There’s a note on the door to check in with the nursing station.” 

“Yes, I saw the note.” Peter said. “Is this because my daughter was here earlier?” 

The sheriff huffed out a laugh, “Sniffed that out, did you? Yeah she was here, it was a little intense, pretty sure there were fangs.”

“I can talk to her, if you like.” 

“No, no,” he laughed, “Malia’s fine, she can come and go as she wishes, god knows she’s spent enough time sitting out there in the parking garage on guard duty, or in here.”

There was a pause, then Noah said carefully, “That goes for you too Peter, you can come and go as you wish?” It sounded like a question, and Derek glanced over at the two men. Noah had a half smile on his face, but his uncle had his head down, tapping away at Derek’s phone. 

“Hale?” Noah insisted, and waited until Peter looked up. “I trust you here.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes at him, then looked back down at the phone. “That would be ill-advised.” 

“You might be right, Hale, but I think I’ll go with my gut on this one.” Noah continued, in a more serious tone, “Don’t think I’m unaware of who arranged to have our very own security backup out there around the clock. I know it wasn’t Argent or the kids.”

His uncle grunted, and handed the phone back to Derek, which Derek took and returned to his pocket. He turned back to Stiles then. Behind him, he heard Peter leave the room. 

“Is he on pain medication?” he asked, when Peter had gone. 

“No, the doctors don’t want it to interfere with his ability to wake up naturally. Go ahead and do the sucky thing if he needs it,” Noah wiggled his fingers at Derek, and he had a moment of thinking that of course Stiles gets his mannerisms from his father. The thought slid away quickly though, as he turned his attention back to Stiles. He laid a hand on his forearm and started drawing away the discomfort he encountered, and while doing so, they filled him in on the afternoon. 

“He woke up several more times, the last time he was awake and looking around for about ten minutes, we think he tried to talk to us too…” Derek let the Sheriff’s words wash over him, reassuring him that they were going to make it through this, too. 

* * *

A little after ten pm Scott walked in. Stiles was sleeping, Derek was reading and Noah was going over some reports. 

The Sheriff greeted him and asked, “What are you doing here so late?” 

Scott moved toward Derek, waiting for a moment as if he expected Derek to give up his seat, looked puzzled when he didn’t move and shrugged and turned back to Noah. “Oh, I had to return mom’s car after my date tonight. She told me Stiles was awake so I figured I’d pop in and say hi.” 

“That was nice, Scott,” Noah said quietly, “but you can see he’s sleeping. Maybe you can come back tomorrow during the day.” 

“Sure, Sheriff,” Scott replied, but looked pointedly at Derek, who ignored him and went back to his book. Scott stood there a little longer, then said, “Guess that means we don’t need you anymore, huh buddy?” 

“What,” Derek said at the same time Noah said, “Scott…” the sheriff was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Scott motioned to the hospital bed, “Well, now that Stiles is awake, he’s got me and the rest of his pack, right?” 

“Scott,” Noah interrupted, “we’re tired. Stiles is resting, and I’d prefer you didn’t wake him. We’re having everybody check in with the nurses for a few days, so come back during visiting hours.” 

“I could stay for a bit, let Derek get out of here. I’m sure it’s better if more familiar people are here with him anyways. I mean, it’s better if it’s his own pack, right?” 

Noah sighed and got up to start herding Scott toward the door, “Derek is fine. Come back tomorrow.” He pushed the door closed behind Scott until it latched, then turned back to Derek. 

“I’m sorry about that, son. Sometimes that kid has his head so far up his ass…” 

“It’s fine,” Derek said. He could hear Scott was still standing just outside the door, and thought it was better if he said nothing. 

* * *

_Day twenty-one_

They couldn’t drag themselves away now that Stiles was finally awake. Derek and Noah had an unspoken agreement to split the nighttime stay, but they had all three, Derek, Lydia, and Stiles’ dad, been there together most of the day before, and they were gathered there again this morning, though it was still early. 

The previous day had passed in neurological evaluations and waiting for the brief moments when Stiles was both awake, and alert enough to seem like he knew who was there. Since he first half-spoke Derek’s name, he hadn’t said anything else yet, in his hearing, and Derek was starting to feel like it had been his imagination, except that those two syllables hadn’t stopped playing on repeat in his mind in two days. 

Lydia had reluctantly rescheduled her exam, and stopped in briefly before heading down to the University to say hello and tell Stiles, “Third time’s the charm!” He was asleep again, but she leaned in and said brightly, “Kisses for luck!” and kissed him on the temple. Stiles’ eyes cracked open for a minute, and he half smiled at her before closing his eyes, and Lydia beamed at him, before picking up her purse and hurrying out for the drive down to Berkeley.

That morning, after Lydia left, Derek and Noah had observed as the nurse worked to get Stiles moved from the bed to a chair for a while, and the doctor came in to test his ability to focus on moving objects and asking questions to try and evaluate his speech. His balance was severely impaired -- even sitting up, he’d started to list to one side, until they put pillows under his arms. Stiles frowned at the pillows and glared at the nurse. 

Derek thought this evaluation might have gone better if it were Ms. McCall moving pillows and asking questions, but the doctor was patient with him, and spoke to him encouragingly as he passed his push-pull and reflex tests. Stiles answered a few of her questions with one or two words, and Derek was relieved to hear him speaking, but he mostly just nodded or shook his head. When she asked about headaches, Stiles looked at Derek for several seconds before shaking his head no. She continued on that way for a few more minutes until Stiles began to fall asleep again, his head dropping forward. They all smiled a little when he started snoring quietly.

The doctor explained the prognosis and treatment plan to Stiles’ dad, then wrote on the daily care board ‘ambulate with assist only,’ along with the time to expect her the next day, and told them to let her right away know if Stiles had any pain, then she hurried off. 

* * *

The Sheriff left sometime in the mid-afternoon to go home and ‘take a nap,’ he said, and Malia arrived only a few minutes later, setting down a larger portfolio and a tote bag next to the other chair. She greeted Stiles although he was sleeping again, and scented him like she had been doing daily, then sniffed her hand and grimaced at what was presumably a mixture of perspiration and antiseptic smells. Derek found his cousin amusing, but comforting. It meant he wasn’t the only one who slipped into more instinctive behaviors when under stress. 

She moved over to the sink to wash the smells off, then back to the chair where she pulled out a small drafting board, with a large pad and some loose sheets attached to it. He could see she was working on what looked like a landscape plan. Derek hadn’t even known she was interested in that, until all the quiet hours in the hospital, but he’d seen this particular drawing several times now.

Once she settled in with a non-photo blue pencil and started sketching, she asked, “He’s still sleeping a lot. Is that normal?” 

“Yes,” Derek replied. “The doctor said he needed rest to repair the brain injury. He’s been waking up though.”

“Hmm.” She studied Stiles, “Is he talking?” 

“A little.” 

“Okay then.” Derek watched her sketch quietly for a few minutes, before she asked casually, “Has Scott been here yet?” 

“For a few minutes, the night before last.” She looked at him sharply, which reminded him that she was much more observant than people gave her credit for. They tended to only notice all the things she didn’t know or understand, rather than how astute she could be. 

She tapped her pencil against her teeth while she watched him, then said, “There was a pack meeting. Scott wanted Liam to tell Peter he didn’t need to keep standing watch.” Derek raised his eyebrows at her and she said, “Liam said they wanted to help, so that was the end of that.” 

She paused, then continued, “He followed me out to my car after the meeting, said he just wanted to check in with everybody who was visiting the hospital. He asked me when you’d be leaving town. Are you leaving town?” 

“No, Malia. I’m not.” 

She nodded. “Good, because I told him that I didn’t think you had any plans to leave. But Derek, he didn’t like that. He asked me a bunch of questions about how often you’re here and why, and what you’re doing. I didn’t answer any of them, as far as I’m concerned if he wants to know, he can talk to you.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me,” Derek said. He’d been worried the other night that Scott had overheard what the sheriff said, and it was looking like the concern was warranted. He wasn’t trying to take Scott’s place, but he knew he wasn’t the only one disappointed that Stiles’ ‘best friend’ really hadn’t been around much since the injury. Before now, he’d taken Scott’s comments at face value, only thoughtless and a little oblivious, but not meant to wound. Now he couldn’t help wondering. 

* * *

Derek came back from the cafeteria to find Scott was in the room, chatting away to Stiles, who had been sleeping when he left, still worn from the active assessments from earlier in the day. He paused outside the door for a minute and listened to Scott gushing on about his new girlfriend.

He pushed through the door to see all of the overhead lights were switched on, and Scott sitting in the chair where Malia had been when he left not twenty minutes ago to go get dinner. Her drawing board was leaning haphazardly against the wall, but a sheet of paper had come loose and Scott was stepping on it. 

Derek set the food down and stalked over to him, lifted his foot and retrieved the paper. It was a smaller sketch that looked to be part of the landscape plan Malia was working on. He smoothed the drawing and bent to clip it back to her board, then stood and looked first at Stiles, who looked like he was struggling to stay awake, and then at Scott. 

“Where’s Malia,” he said. 

“I dunno man, she just got up and walked out when I got here.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Derek for a tense moment. He tilted his head, reaching out with his senses until he could hear his cousin down the hall in the little family waiting room, pacing and grumbling. He felt some of the tension leave him, knowing Malia was still within earshot of Stiles, although he couldn’t really blame her for leaving the room. 

Returning his attention to Scott, he asked, “Did you check in at the nurses station?” He gestured to the large, obvious sign on the door, but Scott raised his chin stubbornly and said, “No man, that doesn’t apply to me.” As if Derek hadn’t been right there the other night when Noah told him to do so.

Derek glowered at Scott, then turned his attention back to Stiles. His heart rate was elevated, and he was squinting in a way that made him think his head was hurting, which made Derek frown even harder. He moved to switch the brightest lights off, then stepped between Stiles and Scott, blocking Scott’s sightline. 

“He’s recovering and he needs rest,” Derek said, “check in at the nurses’ station next time before you wake him up.” His tone left no room for discussion but that rarely stopped Scott. 

He stood and stepped forward until he was chest to chest with Derek, and flashed his eyes red. Then in a cheerful tone, overly loud, he said, “It’s okay dude. When are you gonna head out anyways? Since Stiles is awake and Monroe finished, it looks like we don’t need you anymore.” Derek could hear the beeping on Stiles’ heart monitor increase, and he knew Scott did too, it was impossible to miss. Scott added, “I guess it’s time for you to get back to… wherever you’re living now.” He smirked, then leaned around and said to Stiles, “Later, man, I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Derek wanted to react, but he guessed Scott was just trying to get a rise out of him, and not only wouldn’t he give him the satisfaction, but he wouldn’t jeopardize his ability to be here, for the sake of a confrontation with the posturing teenager, alpha or not.

Stiles heart rate kept going up until an alarm went off, and a nurse hurried in, passing Scott as he walked out. He frowned at the monitors, while Derek watched in concern, doubting his decision to confront Scott. 

“Der’k,” Stiles said, catching his attention. He was holding his arm up in Derek’s direction. “Stay.” 

Derek crossed to the bed and took his arm, drawing off some low level pain, and growled, “That better not be a dog joke, Stiles.” His eyes fluttered closed and he smiled, and Derek said softly, “I'm not going anywhere.” 

The nurse watched the numbers on the monitor as they returned to normal, then nodded approvingly at Derek and left the room.

* * *

_Day twenty-two_

Late in the afternoon, there was a sharp rap at the door to Peter’s condo. Derek was definitely not moping, he just was resting. He wasn't wearing anything but an old pair of sweatpants, and he didn’t feel like answering the door. He knew it was Lydia though, he knew she wouldn’t give up, and he rolled his eyes a few seconds later when a message popped up on his phone screen that said, “Open the door, Derek.” 

He padded over to the door in bare feet and let her in. 

She walked in and set her little handbag down, then cocked her head at him and said, “I’m liking this. Hirsute is a good look on you.” 

Derek gave her a flat look, and she smiled sweetly until he rolled his eyes. “Why are you here, Lydia?”

“Why are _you_ here, Derek?” she fired back, then softened. “If you need a break, that’s good that you’re taking one, you’ve been with him every day and most nights, but you didn’t stay last night, and you haven’t been at all today. Are you okay?” 

Derek shrugged and looked away, but answered, “Scott’s been in a couple of times. It was uncomfortable. He doesn’t really want me there. I thought it would be easier.” 

Lydia cleared her throat, and waited for him to look at her. She had never looked so unimpressed, it almost made him smile. “And since when do we listen to Scott, hmmm?” 

He snorted, and she shoulder checked him, grinning, then she sobered and told him, “Stiles’ dad told me about the other night, and Malia filled me in on everything she overheard yesterday.” She leaned forward until she was sure she held his eyes. “You are wanted there, and you are needed. Nevermind what Scott says.” 

He felt doubtful for a moment, and it must have shown on his face, because Lydia said again, “It’s fine, Derek. We all want you there.” 

Then she stood up and held out a hand, “Come on Mr. Broody, time to get dressed and go see Stiles. He’s talking a lot more today.” 

“He’s talking?” Derek looked at her in surprise, and she nodded. 

In a short time, they were back at the hospital, walking into Stiles’ room. Stiles was awake, and he looked up, smiled at Derek and said, “Big guy,” then held his hand out to him. Derek was astonished and thrilled and wanted to break down in tears, all in the same second, but instead he stepped forward and took the offered hand, which Stiles squeezed until he could feel his grip trembling. Lydia pushed a chair up behind him and Derek sat down, listening to Stiles mumble something that sounded like ‘woofy butt.’ 

The sheriff stood and patted Derek’s other arm, “Glad you’re here, Son. I’m going for coffee, I’ll give you a few minutes.” Lydia followed him out the door. 

Stiles frowned at him. “Idiot. Said you’d stay.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Stiles was still squeezing his hand, but he relaxed at that. “Okay. m’tired. Head hurts.”

Derek started drawing off some of his pain, and replied, “I know, go to sleep, I’ll still be here.” 

* * *

_Day twenty-five_

On the twenty-fifth day, they moved him out of ICU, skipping the step down unit and going right into a regular room. His speech was continuing to improve at a rapid pace and he was able to go from bed to chair and to the bathroom as long as he had something to hold onto or someone to help him with his balance. 

Liam had been by daily since he woke, Malia was parked in the corner with her drawing board much of the time, and even Peter had been in and out a few times. Stiles was in good spirits, still too fatigued with healing to get bored yet. And Scott… he’d stopped by once more, when Derek wasn’t there, which was probably for the best. There was a gaming device sitting on the bedside table untouched. Stiles was having some trouble with numbness and motor control on the outside of his right hand. The doctors were convinced it was from the fracture, and not connected to the brain injury, but it made the handheld game device seem insensitive. 

He was probably being overprotective. 

That afternoon, when they were all settled, the Sheriff’s cheerful and confident facade finally cracked. He’d gone out to get takeout for the two of them, and a milkshake for Stiles. On entering the room, he stumbled slightly and all the food went crashing to the floor. Noah stood stock still, just staring at the mess, and Stiles watched him with his mouth hanging open. Derek scrambled to start cleaning it up, but Noah pushed him out of the way, going to his hands and knees, and attempting to scoop the spilled containers and food into a pile with his hands. 

Derek tried to take him by the arm and pull him back from the debris, but he jerked back and snapped, “I can do it, it’s my mess, I can do _something_!” He jumped up and grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and knelt down again. 

Stiles was leaning over the side of the bed calling to him, not quite being able to see him from where he was. He started trying to get himself out of the bed, pulling himself forward on the bed railing, and Derek was torn between trying to help the Sheriff, who was clearly in the midst of a crisis, or Stiles, who still needed help with standing because of his balance. He held a hand out to signal Stiles to stay put, and for once he listened, worry etched on his face, as they listened to Noah’s ragged breathing. It made Derek think of one of Stiles’ panic attacks, and he could feel his own anxiety rising. 

Behind him, Stiles kept saying, “dad, dad,” in a soft voice, and Derek reached out to take Noah by the arm again. It’s the first time he can feel it, a fine tremor that vibrated through the man’s body. None of it had been noticeable on the surface during their entire ordeal, a few moments of tears notwithstanding, just the warm, calm, humorous, in-control Sheriff, all the while he was as terrified as the rest of them. More. It was easy to forget until something like this happened. 

“He’s fine, Stiles,” Derek assured him, and helped the man to his feet and over to where his Stiles was waiting. They folded one another in a crushing hug, Stiles voice muffled into his shoulder saying, “Here dad, m’here.” 

And his father’s tear-filled reply, “You scared me so much, Mischief, I thought I was going to lose you too.”

“S’okay dad.”

"It's not, I couldn't do _anything_."

Derek finished cleaning up the mess as quickly as he could and stepped out into the hallway. After thinking over what he’d just seen, he called Liam who was outside taking his turn at watching over them.

Liam answered immediately, and he practically shouted into the phone, “What’s wrong?” 

Derek shook his head at the volatile teenager and assured him that things were fine, and he’d like him to come up in thirty minutes to take the sheriff home. 

“Is he okay? Should I call Mr. Argent, or Deputy Parrish?” He was so earnest it made Derek’s head hurt. 

“He’s fine, Liam, he just needs to go home and get some real sleep. I want you to drive him, then you can come right back.” 

Liam agreed and disconnected the call. Derek took the stairs down to the lobby and outside, just to get some air and give Stiles and his dad a little time. He returned just in time to meet Liam, thirty minutes on the dot, he had to give the kid credit for doing what he’s asked. When they walked in, Stiles had moved to the chair and was watching something on the small room TV. 

Noah looked up and greeted Liam, who shifted from foot to foot awkwardly before saying, “I’m here to drive you home, Sir. You need a nap.” Noah snorted and threw an accusing look in Derek’s direction. Stiles reached out to poke his father, and said, “yeah, Dad. Nap.” 

Beaten, he heaved a put-upon sigh and said, “You may have a point. I’ll go get some shut-eye for a few hours.” He turned to Liam. “Alright kiddo, drive me home. You can tell me about how lacrosse is going.” 

As they headed out, Derek heard Liam say, “Lacrosse season ended, Sir, school’s out.” 

“So it is, Liam. Maybe I do need a nap.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that got long. I've split this chapter into two, so the next one will be up in a few days.  
> A few years ago, I spent weeks (months) hanging around in a hospital room while one of my closest friends underwent treatment for a serious illness. It was boring AF, but in that way where you're always on edge, because there's no grand gesture you can make to fix things. Just endless trips to the cafeteria and vending machines. Taking the stairs up and down, to go stand outside at the entrance for fresh air and a little exercise. And weirdly, running interference on the visitors who are exhausting or interfering.
> 
> They put those comfy chairs in the room for a reason, because after a few days of just sitting around worrying, you are TIRED. 
> 
> I added some tags. How do people feel about tags that might be spoilers? Should I add them after the whole thing is written? Leave them off? 
> 
> My formatting kind of broke when I copied this over, so if you notice any weirdness or typos (gods I hate typos,) leave me a note. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day, don't be shy! Thanks for reading and all the subscriber love. <3


	4. Chapter 4

_Day Twenty-Eight_

Stiles didn’t remember Kira being there. He did remember the supernatural storm, but not the Skin-walkers, and not Kira. He didn’t remember the last confrontation at all, and the doctor wasn’t sure he’d ever recover the memory. Stiles was pretty pissed off that he missed seeing Kira and the Skin-walkers, and he kept asking if they really got Monroe. “She’s gone? Dead? You sure?” Derek wasn’t sure how to answer the ‘dead’ question, but he was sure they were gone. 

Stiles had been awake for nine days now, and most of his physical functioning had returned to what the doctors considered normal at a very rapid pace, although his right arm was still an issue, and the orthopedist had warned them about the possibility of needing another corrective surgery later. His progress wasn’t quite miraculous, but it was certainly noteworthy for those who didn’t know about the supernatural. Of course, many of the hospital staff _did_ know, and they were pleased but took it more in stride that the presence of pack and magical pain management equaled a better outcome. 

His lack of proprioception, however, was debilitating, and Stiles was starting to get surly when anybody helped him stand or move, even if it had only been a week. There were a few other things that remained an issue - he had trouble swallowing food that wasn’t soft. He had some speech aphasia, mostly of the missing words type, but there were occasional nonsense words too. He forgot the names of some objects, only to remember them minutes later. They called it ‘anomia.’ They all missed his usual rapidfire speech more than anything.

He refused to read, shoving his laptop away in anger, and declined to cooperate in any reading evaluation or exercises. Lydia was most concerned about this symptom, and threw herself back into the neurological textbooks, looking for anything she could find on reading aphasia. 

Other than Stiles’ bursts of frustration, it was hard to miss the air of relief, even joy, that permeated the emotions of everybody who came to see him. Ms McCall stopped in on each break, every day she worked, and she’d almost talked Derek into calling her Melissa. 

Malia was sitting cross-legged on the end of Stiles’ hospital bed. They were playing card games, one of Lydia’s suggestions to help with cognitive recovery, since he was being pigheaded about the therapist’s recommendations. 

Derek and Malia both sat up and tilted their heads the same direction, which made Stiles giggle. 

Malia said, “Shut up, Scott’s coming,” and both of them started to get up. 

Stiles grabbed her wrist and said, “Nope,” looking at Derek too, “Stay,” so they both settled back down. Scott came into the room and looked a little disconcerted to see his ex-girlfriend sitting on Stiles’ bed, and Derek couldn’t help feeling a little bit smug. 

Scott turned to Derek and said, “Oh, you’re here, where’s Lydia?” Malia growled and flashed her real eyes at Scott, and he flashed his red in return, but she was defiant. None of them answered him and Scott backed down. Derek realized that he’d never seen the two of them acting like they were dating, even though he knew they were together the entire time they were tracking Monroe’s army. When he and Malia were off tracking, she had never seemed anxious to get back to Scott, which seemed strange, especially for a shifter who tended to bond more tangibly.

Rather than settling in to visit, Scott walked around the bed, the side furthest from Derek, and held out a bag of doritos to Stiles. “Figured you’d be ready for some junk food, and I’m not staying, just brought my mom some lunch and came to borrow the car.” 

“Date?” Stiles asked as he took the bag of chips and set them on the bedside table next to the unused nintendo thing. 

“Yup, with Christy, you remember, from geography class sophomore year? Super pretty…” he trailed off dreamily. 

Malia sniffed. “What happened to Super Pretty Sandy?” 

“Malia, you’re not supposed to eavesdrop. Humans view that as bad manners.” 

“Good thing I’m a coyote then,” she snarked. Stiles laughed, and Derek had a hard time not cracking a grin. 

Scott looked between the three of them, a sulky expression on his face. “Whatever, man. I gotta go, San… uh, Christy’s waiting.” He was barely out of the room before Stiles and Malia fell together, guffawing with laughter. Derek smiled to himself, watching the two of them blow off the tension, but when they were both upright again, Stiles looked at Malia with a question. She shrugged and said, “He’s not my alpha.” 

“Broke up,” Stiles said.

“Yes, I killed the hunter who hurt you, and one other. I’d do it again.” Derek rumbled his approval and Malia glanced over at him with a smile, before adding, “So he’s not my boyfriend. And I’d never have an alpha who wouldn’t let me defend my pack.”

Stiles made a thoughtful noise, then asked, “Pack?”

“Derek, my father, Lydia. You. Kira if she ever comes back. Maybe Liam, he’s not entirely useless.” Derek snorted, and Stiles nodded sagely at that. 

“I don’t need a pack as much as a wolf does, and you’re still my anchor,” she said, matter-of-fact. She gathered up the cards, shuffled and re-dealt. “Now, do you have any sixes?” 

“Go fish.”

Derek went back to his book, the same one he’d been not-reading for the past month. He’d made it a few chapters when he heard Malia pssst at him. She pointed to Stiles who had fallen asleep sitting up, his head down and hand tilted forward, all of his cards showing. Malia showed all of her teeth and said, “When he wakes up I’m totally winning again.”

* * *

_Day Twenty-Nine_

“What’s he doing out there?”

They could hear Scott pacing back and forth, muttering to himself in the corridor outside Peter’s condo. 

“Working himself into a tizzy, it seems,” Peter said. 

Derek stood listening for a moment, “He knows we’re in here, he should know we can hear him.”

“Scott has never embraced his shift,” Peter replied, “not really. He should be able to hear us, but it’s not automatic for him to use his full senses.”

“I should have trained him more.” 

“He had plenty of opportunities. You’re much too willing to overlook his shortcomings, nephew, it’s not your fault if he values his resentments over his education.” Scott knocked on the door and Peter started towards it. He looked back at Derek, “Maybe it’s time for some hard truths.”

Derek answered, “Can we please try to keep the peace? It’s already awkward enough.”

Peter shrugged and opened the door and said brightly, “Hello Scott, are you here for breakfast? I could whip us up a nice frittata.” 

Scott scoffed and turned his back to Peter, who walked over and sat on a bar stool at the counter, smiling menacingly. Derek shot him a look to quell any other goading Peter was about to start.

“Scott,” Derek greeted him, “how is Stiles this morning?” and it’s not that he planned to provoke him, he really did want to keep the peace, at least for the Stilinskis’ sake, but he knew Scott hadn’t been to see him today or he’d smell it on him. And yesterday - hadn’t gone well, so what if Derek _was_ irritated with him?

Scott threw another look in Peter’s direction, and Derek sighed and said, “Peter, can you give us a minute?” 

Instead of moving out of the room, Peter picked up his keys and replied, “I think I’ll pick up breakfast, I’ll bring enough for you, Scott, if you’re still here,” and he walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Derek turned back to Scott and held his hands out, both directing him to sit, and inviting him to say whatever he came to say. Derek didn’t expect it to be a social call, but at least with Peter out of the way, maybe it wouldn’t be too confrontational, in spite of their last few interactions at the hospital. 

“Man, no offense but you kinda look like shit,” Scott said, as he went to sit across the room in one of the chairs. 

“Thanks.” 

“Nah, dude, I just mean you need a break.” He was looking around the apartment with mild curiosity. Derek knew this was the first time Scott had been here, he wasn’t even sure how he knew where Peter lived, not many people did. Probably Malia had told him at some point. 

If it had been Stiles looking around, Derek knew he would have been remarking on the colorful walls and warm wood accents, the extra plush furnishings and the abundance of houseplants on long racks to either side of large windows. Outside on the deck, there was an explosion of colorful flower planters curving around ridiculously overstuffed patio furnishings. The first time Derek had walked into the space, he’d been struck by the warmth and comfort of the home, so unexpected until he considered all the years Peter had been confined to sterile, impersonal spaces. 

“I’m fine, is there something you needed, Scott?” Derek asked, and took a seat on the long couch, just opposite, and waited. He knew what this was probably about, Malia’s report about the pack meeting, as well as the comments he dropped when they’d crossed paths at the hospital, forewarning him.

Scott cleared his throat and, still looking around the room, said, “It’s good that Peter went out, I need to talk to you about getting him to back off.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean, has he done something I need to know about?” said Derek. 

Scott continued, “No, nothing like that, he’s just there all the time on his little watch set-up in the garage, and like, it just seems like overkill, you know?” 

Derek frowned at him and said, “Argent and the others don’t seem to think so.” 

Scott waved his hand in dismissal, “Well, Chris is extra cautious, and Liam and Malia are just easily influenced.” 

Derek blinked at that, but held his tongue. Liam Dunbar might be looking for approval from the adults in his life, but his cousin was hardly one to do anything she didn’t decide on her own.

Scott probably took his silence as acquiescence, because he plowed forward, “And now that Stiles is awake, Peter’s been going inside, getting cozy with the Sheriff, and we both know he can’t be trusted.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Derek objected, “I know Noah trusts him with Stiles, he’s said so very clearly. I may have my problems with him, but he’s done nothing but help for a long time now, and I agree with Noah.”

Scott sat forward in his chair, finally making eye contact, “Oh come on, dude. ‘Trust?’ really? I can’t have him hanging around my pack, when I can’t trust him to follow my orders. It was okay when he was just sitting in his car in the parking garage, but I don’t want him visiting. He murdered both those people up there, when I said not to. They should have been under my protection.”

“Monroe’s Hunters? That’s why you're here, to defend them?” Derek asked. “They murdered innocent supernaturals all throughout the Southwest, they nearly killed Stiles! And that’s what you’re worried about? Peter’s not going to hurt the Stilinskis. He would never.” Derek struggled not to raise his voice in disbelief.

“Derek, we don’t kill people!”

Derek stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, “No Scott, _you_ don’t kill people, you just make deals with them until somebody else has to get their hands dirty to protect us.”

“That’s not fair,” Scott snapped. “Peter is a danger, and he’s a bad influence on other members of my pack. Don’t make me have to call somebody.” 

“You mean Hunters,” Derek said. Scott had no idea the dangerous ground he was treading on, coming into Derek’s home, however temporary, and insinuating that he would bring Hunters to threaten his family. He stood up, carefully holding onto his human form, and added, “I think you’ve made your point, it’s time to go.”

Scott smiled and held his hands out to either side, in a placating gesture, as if Derek was the one being unreasonable. “I don’t want it to have to come down to that either, man. So if we could all figure out a way to compromise…” 

Derek moved to the door and started to open it, which unfortunately was the exact moment Peter arrived back to the apartment. As he entered, Scott smiled so cheerfully Derek could almost believe it was sincere, and asked, “Is that from the café down the street? I love that place!” He moved back into the living area and then across to the kitchen bar and took a seat, as if expecting to be served his promised breakfast. 

Incredulous, Derek followed him in, glancing to Peter as he passed. Peter inhaled several deep huffs of air, scenting the tumultuous atmosphere, then shrugged and moved to unbox the food. 

As he dished up, Peter asked, “Did you two discuss anything interesting?”

Scott dug into his breakfast, and without looking up said, “Derek and I decided that it was time for you to lay off the watch, and leave the Stilinskis alone. We don’t really need your help now.”

When Peter looked at Derek, he shook his head, while Scott continued, “The whole watch thing was excessive anyways, don’t you think? Chris probably has better things to do.” 

“Hmm,” Peter said, “have you spoken with Stiles about this? Or Noah?”

Scott tilted his head to the side, and frowned slightly, giving Derek the impression of a puzzled puppy. “No why should I? Stiles is my best friend, I know what he wants.” 

Peter replied, “I’ll take that under advisement.” 

Scott put his fork down, and gave him an irritated glance, “Look Peter, I just want you to stop camping out, bothering Noah, guarding Stiles' room and keeping everybody else out. To be honest,” he turned to Derek, “we don’t really need you around much either, dude, no offense.”

Derek went rigid with tension, because Scott had to be aware of how many of their instincts he was trodding on, coming to their space and insulting them. He hoped it wasn't going to get out of hand, but he wanted to resolve this here and now, instead of waiting for it to come to a head at the hospital. And he knew Scott was wrong anyways, Stiles and Noah did want him there, he knew that because they’d told him. 

Besides which, he was just so tired of dealing with Scott, even before all of this. During the hunt for Monroe, Scott’s moral imperatives had cost them injuries, valuable time, and casualties. 

Peter walked around the counter and stood next to the stool where Scott was seated, “I don’t know, Scott, it seems pretty offensive to me,” he said coolly. “You come into my home, eat my food, and presume to tell me how I can spend my time.”

Scott crossed his arms and flashed his eyes red for a second. “Peter, be reasonable, I don’t want to have to order you out of my territory.” 

Peter mirrored the look, eyes flashing beta blue and said, “Territory? I thought it was Hunters you were threatening us with.”

“You were eavesdropping.” 

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Peter started to turn away, “you’re mistaken about your authority here. I’ll leave my home when I wish to leave, and not before. You should be more cautious with your threats. And ‘territory,’ you really ought to do your research, Scott, for shame. Ordering me out of _your_ territory,” he scoffed.

“It _is_ my territory now,” Scott turned to Derek, “ _you_ turned it over to me when Stiles was possessed,” he turned back to glare at Peter, “and I don’t see any other alphas in this room who could claim it back.” It was the wrong thing to say, and Derek knew what was coming before Scott could even blink. 

Lightning fast, before Derek could intervene if he had even wanted to, Peter reached out and grabbed Scott by the throat, lifting him from the stool and walking him backwards several paces to pin him against the wall. While Scott scrabbled at the hand wrapped around his throat, Peter leaned in close and spoke into his ear, “Someday you really should learn what it means to be a werewolf. You can’t order us to leave, it doesn’t work like that. We’re not junkyard dogs, there is no _territory_ , we don’t piss on trees and mark boundary lines. We do, however, have dens, and you’re threatening me in _mine_.”

“Peter,” Derek called softly, but the objection was half-hearted. Some part of him found it deeply gratifying to watch Scott be set down by his uncle. It didn’t matter, both werewolves were locked into the struggle now, and it would take more than a half-hearted interruption to break it up. And he knew Peter was self-interested enough not to take things too far, although he couldn’t say the same about Scott.

Scott’s face morphed into his beta shift, and claws dug into Peter’s hands as he snarled through his fangs, “I beat you once, in La Iglesia, and I’ll do it again if you force me.” 

Peter gave him a predator’s smile, showing his own fangs, and replied, “Be careful what you wish for, oh cub of mine, you’d challenge me to a battle? In my own home? No. I like my home.” He paused, and Scott struggled against his hold for a few seconds, then he continued, “Your pack gives you strength. I didn’t have a pack in the Church, McCall. Things change. Are you secure in your own pack right now?” 

Scott held Peter’s gaze, defiant, a trickle of blood on his throat from Peter’s claws, but even from where he was seated Derek could smell the faint pungency of his fear. He stood, and crossed the room, wrapping a hand around Peter’s wrist and squeezed slightly until he loosened his grip. 

“Peter, that’s enough,” he said quietly. 

Peter waited just a beat, then rolled his neck, shifted back to human form and released Scott, who staggered forward before righting himself. 

Scott’s territorial threats held little weight, but Derek didn’t want it to get to the point where Stiles would feel like he had to choose sides, especially because he was sure he would lose that contest. He knew Scott’s reasons were personal anyways, he didn’t represent the Stilinskis and their wishes concerning either himself or Peter. Noah had said he trusted Peter with his son, and even Stiles… _Stiles_ had asked him directly to stay. More than once. And when Scott was there to hear it. They wanted him there, they needed him, and he wouldn’t allow Scott to convince him to doubt that, or drive them away. 

Derek turned to Peter, who raised his eyebrows. Derek nodded and jerked his head toward the hallway, so Peter nodded back once and walked out of the room, leaving Derek and Scott alone once more. Scott was still breathing hard, no doubt adrenaline from the confrontation. As satisfying as Derek might have found it to pick up the argument where his uncle left off, he would rather send Scott away calm if he could.

He wasn’t surprised though, when Scott rounded on him and said, “See? He’s dangerous! you need to keep him away from my pack.”

“I think,” Derek started, barely suppressing a growl, “that Stiles and Noah are adults, and will have no trouble telling us if they want us to stay away.”

“What about Liam? He’s my beta,” Scott said.

“Then that’s between you and your beta.” 

As if he hadn’t said anything, Scott kept going, “And you don’t need to keep coming around either, now that Stiles is awake. We’ve got it handled, and don’t need you babysitting him anymore, he can push his own call button, and me and Lydia can handle whatever his dad doesn’t. I know you had some sort of agreement to not leave him alone or whatever, but you can’t just hang out all the time because you don’t have anything better to do. You can finally get out of town, go back to whatever you were doing before all of this Monroe mess. We’re all good now.” 

Derek let him run out of words, then started moving them towards the door, “Like you say, Scott. I don’t have anything better to do.” He opened the door, and motioned Scott to leave, but he stood there for a moment, glaring, mouth opening and closing like he had no idea what his next argument should be, then brushed past him to go. Scott turned when he was through the doorway and said, “Fine, but keep him away from Liam.” Then he left, and Derek let the door fall closed behind him. 

He stood there for a few minutes, breath coming in short as he tried to maintain control. Had he been anywhere else than Peter’s apartment, he’d have taken his anger out on the walls, but instead he calmed himself, whispering the old mantra under his breath until he sensed Peter standing before him. 

“Come,” Peter said, “you’re dripping blood on the hardwoods.” Derek looked down at his clenched fists; he hadn’t even noticed his claws digging into his palms. He allowed his uncle to pull him into the kitchen and start rinsing his hands in the sink. 

“I hope your passivity with the young alpha is not a permanent condition,” Peter said.

“You were listening.” 

“Of course.”

Derek sighed, “It’s not for his sake.” 

“Hmmm.”

“I haven’t seen you with Liam,” Derek said, reaching for a towel to wet so he could clean the floor where he bled.

Peter replied, “Oh, yes, I’ve been sparring with the boy. Did you know he still can’t control his abilities around the moon?”

Derek looked at Peter, who turned away and said casually, “Nobody has taught him anything. Although we may have his loss of control to thank for Stiles being with us right now.”

“Is that why you’re helping him?”

Peter tilted his head, not quite a yes, but not really a no, and said, “Liam Dunbar is strong, but nobody has taught him about us, so after two years, he’s still scared. It’s a dangerous combination. He wants to learn, I can teach him. And yes, I think we owe him.” 

“He’s still Scott’s pack,” Derek said.

“For now,” Peter answered, “but I think he should be prepared for anything. If he loses control and the Hunters come, they’ll come for all of us.” He took the towel from Derek’s hands. “And with an Alpha who’s willing to collaborate with Hunters, and who hasn’t taught him the things he needs to know, it’s the job of any wolf around.” He paused, “Now, go clean yourself up and head out, I’ll get this.”

* * *

He came out of the shower to see his phone blinking with messages.

> _From Lydia:_ Scott is here bearing gifts. 
> 
> _From Lydia:_ Cake. He brought cake. And more chips.
> 
> _From Lydia:_ There are balloons too. {photo}
> 
> _From Lydia:_ Derek where are you? Scott is driving me crazy. He’s talking about college and snowboarding and Call of Duty. Noah is doing a half-day at the station and I don’t want to bother him. 
> 
> _From Lydia:_ I’m going to punch him. I asked him to tone it down and he got short with me.
> 
> _To Lydia:_ Sorry, shower. Scott was here earlier. I should wait until he goes.
> 
> _From Lydia:_ I see. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. I’ll let you know when to come in.
> 
> _To Lydia:_ Thanks

Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, his exhaustion weighing on him. It had never been his intention to come between Stiles and Scott, but Scott’s constant hostility was wearing on him. He knew he’d made mistakes, but for a while he thought they’d gotten past it, after the Nogitsune. Maybe if he hadn’t left Beacon Hills, if he’d stayed and tried to help more, it wouldn’t have come to this. But with the potential danger to his family from the Desert Wolf, and with Kate in the wind, he hadn’t wanted to return home until those threats had been eliminated.

* * *

The late afternoon sun was coming through the window when his phone alert woke him. He was still in just the towel from his shower, so he must have fallen asleep right after Lydia’s previous messages. He yawned and stretched, feeling better, and picked up the phone. 

> _From Lydia:_ Scott finally left, and Noah will be here soon. You should come in now.
> 
> _To Lydia:_ He’s awake
> 
> _From Lydia:_ No, sleeping. Scott’s visit was draining. But he asked for you before he fell asleep. 

Derek smiled to himself, reassured, sent back a message that he’d be there soon, and moved to get dressed.

* * *

_Day Thirty-One_

“I want to go home. Please dad. No more hospital.”

“Me too kiddo, let me see what I can do.” 

Stiles had to wait until the doctor was available to discharge him, which didn’t happen until the early afternoon. They paid careful attention as the doctor explained how important it was for him to use his walker or get assistance until they were able to assess that his balance was improved enough, or until his head was healed enough to keep his brain safe if he fell. Well, Derek, Lydia, and Noah paid attention, and Stiles listened with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face, but he promised to comply, saying he didn’t want to ‘scramble what was left’ of his brains. Lydia gave him a stern look at the comment, but let it drop in favor of getting through the discharge procedure. 

There were release forms and prescriptions, and diet instructions because Stiles still was having difficulty with choking on his food, then _finally_ he was in the wheelchair and Noah was pushing him out the door, stopping long enough to say goodbye to his nurses and for Melissa to hug Stiles with tears in her eyes. Derek followed behind with the last of their accumulated possessions and Lydia pulled Derek’s SUV around and hopped out to open the doors. 

They loaded the new walker into the cargo area, helped Stiles into the front, and settled into the backseat, then Lydia accelerated away and they left the hospital behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Scott. You need help, dude. Quit making everything all about you. 
> 
> There’s so much medical handwavium, especially from here forward, including skipping of acute and subacute rehab. There are usually a lot more doctors, and all kinds of therapy for a severe brain injury. But we've got wolves and magic.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) is often an invisible disability that results in a host of physical, mental, and emotional symptoms and difficulties. It’s also quite costly and can persist for months, even years. Without incredibly good health insurance, ongoing treatment and/or assistance can be prohibitive. (Pssst, healthcare is a human right.)


	5. Chapter 5

Derek parked on the street behind Peter’s car, waving at him as he went past to the Stilinski house. There were a couple of stacks of boxes on the front porch, flat-pack deck furniture according to the label. The boxes smelled like Peter, and he turned and walked back down the drive.

“What’s all that?” he asked as Peter lowered his window.

Peter grinned at him and said, “Patio furniture, of course.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “But, why?”

“Advice from the True Alpha.”

“Scott made you buy patio furniture. For the Stilinski house,” Derek said. 

“Technically, Scott told me that it was time for me to stop sitting in my car staring at the house, and that I should find somewhere else to be.” 

“And this was your solution?” 

Peter’s grin grew more wolfish. “The Stilinskis’ have such a nice shady backyard, don’t you think? The True Alpha is wise, I should find somewhere else to be. This seemed like an excellent solution.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, “You think the ‘somewhere’ should be their back patio.” 

Peter squinted at the house, then looked back up at Derek and replied, “Well, two birds, one stone. It’s true I can’t just sit out here on the street, especially at night. And I thought they might find it useful during the recovery period, or you might.” He looked away as he said the last part, as if it were an accidental bonus. 

Derek nodded and started back up the drive, then turned back to the car and said, “You coming? It looks like it needs assembly.” 

“That seems more like a ‘you’ thing than a ‘me’ thing,” Peter smirked, starting the car. And Derek thought he really should have seen that coming. 

Before he could knock on the door, it swung open and the sheriff stepped out to wave at Peter as he pulled away. He looked around at the various boxes, and asked Derek, “What happened here?” 

“Peter.” 

Noah shrugged and patted Derek on the shoulder, guiding him indoors and to the coffee pot. He was dressed in his uniform, and adjusting his duty belt, ready to leave for the station. 

“Stiles is still sleeping,” he said. “He has occupational and speech therapy at eleven, one of the kids is going to drive him, probably Liam.” He picked up his travel mug from the side table and pointed to a couple of boxes in the entryway, saying, “There’s some shower assist stuff in there, if you wouldn’t mind assembling what needs to be assembled and installing what needs to be installed, I would appreciate it.”

Derek nodded. He knew where the tools were and had some basics in his truck. Since Stiles had come home from the hospital, Derek was spending most of each day at the house, and had taken to doing small tasks around the home to occupy some of his time. He didn’t want to make Stiles feel self-conscious by hovering, and surprisingly Noah had accepted the help and left a list of little repairs and wishlist improvements to keep Derek busy.

By the time Stiles woke, he’d assembled a bench for the shower, fit a new handheld shower head, and set out a grab bar to install later. He’d also hauled all the boxes of patio furniture out to the back. 

He heard Stiles up and moving around in his room, then the bathroom, and by the time he was making his way down the stairs, Derek had gone back into the kitchen to set out coffee. Stiles came around the corner holding onto the wall, even though they’d left his walker at the foot of the stairs. Derek frowned at him and hurried past to get the walker which he pushed at Stiles, blocking his way until he took hold of it. Stiles growled and bared his teeth, then clattered his way over to the table, bumping the walker into everything on his way - Derek was sure it was deliberate - before throwing himself down into a chair. 

Stiles had been home for six days now, and everything felt like it was in a holding pattern. He was still mostly resting, sleeping or otherwise, and there was daily therapy both for his balance and for his difficulties with swallowing and choking. Derek turned to pass him a mug and the sugar, and pushed a protein shake in his direction, which he set aside with a grimace. 

He got a good look at Stiles then, he looked a little more rested, but still sickly sallow like he was in pain. Sometime after Derek left the previous day, he’d shaved the scruffy beard and gotten his hair cut into a semi-short crop, the top just long enough to fall in messy locks over the area where his incision was.

He remembered Noah saying something about how he’d want to shave it all off when he got out of the hospital, and Derek was unreasonably happy that he hadn’t. Not that he disliked Stiles in a buzzcut, but his feelings for him are already complicated enough without him looking like he did the first time he found the two teenagers trespassing on his property. Of course, even with a buzz, he wouldn’t look the same, not only had he grown out of his baby-cheek roundness, but he still looked drawn and pale from the weeks in the hospital. Derek was suddenly very glad that Peter bought all of that outdoor furniture, and decided that he’d start putting it together as soon as Stiles left for therapy so he could sit outside and get some sunshine. 

Derek studied him until Stiles cleared his throat. “What?” he said, and ducked his head, cheeks flushing pink. He frowned and rubbed his hands over his head and chin. “Lydia sent a um… clipper person.”

“It looks good,” Derek replied, and stood and moved back into the kitchen to hide his own blush. 

“Hey Der,” Stiles called behind him, “thanks for the shower stuff. Dad helped… last night. Awkward.”

Derek snorted, then went and sat back down across from Stiles and looked more carefully at how his right eye was half-closed against the light, how he hunched forward over his coffee.

“Headache?” Derek asked softly. Stiles tilted his head, barely a motion, and Derek held his hand out, palm up in offer. After a small hesitation, Stiles laid his wrist across Derek’s palm and he slowly took some of the pain, watching his face relax in relief. 

***

Not content to leave it at patio furniture, over the next several days Peter sent a crew of landscapers who showed up right around the time Derek arrived, and he found himself watching as they trimmed and planted and pruned the semi-neglected backyard into a place worthy of relaxing. Derek was starting to understand all the plants and flowers at Peter’s condo a little better. 

* * *

Derek pushed through the side gate into the backyard and called out a quiet hello to Peter. When he rounded the corner he was only a little surprised to see Noah sitting there, too, both of them in the middle of conversation. What had been truly unanticipated was how graciously the Sheriff had accepted the upgrades Peter had made to the yard and even to the patio which now had a fancy new retractable shade awning. And if Peter was spending his early mornings on the back patio instead of sitting on the street in his car, it was probably a reasonable concession to make. 

Derek moved into the kitchen to fill and boil the kettle for his tea, listening to the two men chatting while he did. It defied all expectation that his uncle and the sheriff would be enjoying a friendly cup of coffee and conversation, but they weren’t the strangest combination drawn together due to Stiles’ injury. That distinction probably went to Liam, who had become a project of sorts for both his uncle and his cousin. Once the Stilinskis’ backyard had met Peter’s standards, he’d started training the boy out there in the afternoons, and he’d asked for Malia’s assistance a few days prior. 

It was something of a revelation to Derek, watching his uncle train a bitten wolf in how to develop his senses and control his shift, as well as working on practical fighting techniques. He felt a quick wash of grief for his lost betas, the still-sharp memory of his fear fueled efforts to make them ready to defend themselves against hunters stark against the familiarity of the long-ago routines he’d learned in childhood. 

He felt that pang, and a wave of fresh guilt over the choices he had made that, instead of protecting Erica and Boyd, left them insecure and afraid, poorly adapted to understand the value of both their new abilities and the strength of a good pack. He hadn’t given them much of an opportunity to trust him, he’d been forgetful of all the things they couldn’t yet understand, having not been born as shifters.

Watching Peter teach Liam was more like watching a professional coach work with an athlete, using his strong points to improve the weak ones, creating muscle memory associations with skills he already had to create new ones. Liam had a great deal of potential, but very little training with his werewolf abilities. Peter was a master of control and strategy, and Malia was the most effective fighter and tracker he’d known since the rest of his family was still alive. They both seemed to view the young man as a worthy project, with the added benefit of providing some Thunderdome-style entertainment for Stiles and Noah. 

He stood thinking at the sink for so long that the kettle clicked off and the water cooled enough to need reheating, and Peter took his leave calling for Derek’s attention to tell him he’d be back in the late afternoon.

Derek finished brewing his tea, then took the mug with him back out to the patio to sit with Noah. 

“What’s this?” he said, tapping a duffel under the table with his foot. 

“Peter’s. It’s for training later.”

Derek dragged the bag over and unzipped it, looking first through a selection of fabric sealed in plastic bags. “Scent recognition,” he said, and the sheriff nodded. 

He laughed when he saw what was at the bottom of the bag, and held up a small pot of washable fingerpaint. Noah looked perplexed. 

“It’s a game,” Derek explained, “usually for small children just learning to control their claws. I think the last time I played I was maybe five or six? I remember I played with Laura, and I looked like one of those carnival lollipops at the end of the game.” He dug around in the bag a little more, finding a couple of sleeping masks. “I guess he’s going to adapt it for Liam.” 

Noah was still looking at him with a question on his face, so Derek continued, “It’s a type of tag, you dip your hands in the paint, and you have to keep from getting tagged, but also try to tag anybody else you can reach. There are multiple colors in here, every different color tag you get on the other person is a point. If you claw them or their clothes you lose a point. Looks like Liam is going to get to play blindfolded.” 

The sheriff laughed and said, “Well, that should be entertaining, I guess I’ll have to stick around this afternoon.” 

Derek put everything back in the duffel and zipped it, returning it to its spot under the table. He looked up to catch Noah’s eyes on him, the way father and son both had when they were having a realization. 

“These aren’t the methods you used,” Noah said, it wasn’t a question, and Derek knew he was referring to all of them, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, even Scott.

“No sir,” he answered. “With Jackson, a little bit, but not the rest of them. I didn’t know what I was doing. I made a lot of mistakes.” 

The sheriff was silent for a moment, looking back out over the yard as he sipped his coffee. He got up and walked over to the end of the patio, still looking around the yard, from the neatly trimmed shrubs and trees, to the fresh mulch in the beds. 

“You know, Claudia used to get out here early in the summer every year,” Derek looked up in surprise; he knew from Stiles that Noah rarely talked about his wife, and he wondered briefly if that had changed since the Wild Hunt. Noah went on, “She’d go down to the nursery, fill the back of the jeep up with flats of every flower that ‘looked pretty,’ and come home and plant them all around there in the flowerbeds.” He stood looking out as if he could see the flowers.

“That must have looked nice,” Derek said.

“Oh hell no,” Noah snorted. “She wanted to try some of everything. Had absolutely no regard for water or sun or shade, or any other requirement of the flowers. No planting plan at all, just flowers everywhere she could dig a hole. Some of them she drowned and some she baked. By August it was always a mess of spindly dead weeds that we’d have to rake out. It looks really nice now, the way the gardeners fixed it up, but she’d say it needs flowers.” He paused and turned back to Derek. 

“I told you I spent a lot of time in the bottom of a bottle after we lost her. I didn’t take proper care of him when he needed me the most, didn’t notice how much I was hurting him, because all I could feel was how much I was hurting. We all make mistakes when we’re alone and scared, when we’re grieving. Some of those mistakes we’re never gonna get the chance to put right, and we have to live with that, learn to forgive ourselves.” 

“Yes sir,” Derek said then, almost reflexively.

“It’s not a lecture, son,” Noah said, “I’m trying to tell you that you’re not alone. This,” he gestured to the yard, and to the house, “is not all just going to evaporate once Stiles is recovered.” 

Derek blinked at him, confused, trying to catch up with the conversation jumps, and Noah sighed and squinted back, scratching at his eyebrow as if even he wasn’t sure where he took a detour. 

“Look, son, what I’m trying to say is we want you here, and I think I need to say it because Scott keeps coming around trying to convince you to move along. It’s not just because you help out, although that’s appreciated too, just…” he started pacing along the edge of the patio, “... that chair right there? It’s always open for you, do you get what I’m saying, Hale?” 

Noah turned back and met Derek’s eyes, and Derek could feel the prickling of tears he wouldn’t show. “I think so, sir.” It had been so long since anybody treated him like anything but a soldier, but here Noah was telling him _again_ that he was wanted. It was getting easier for him to believe, but harder to control the well of emotions it brought up for him. 

“Okay, good, you’re family, kid, so enough with the ‘Sir,’ call me Noah,” he said, and walked past him to go back inside, brushing a hand across his shoulder as he went by. Stiles was coming through and Noah held the door open for him, then left it open, pulling the screen closed behind him to keep bugs out of the house. 

Stiles settled into one of the oversized patio chairs with a sigh and a massive mug of coffee, carefully leaning his cane up against the table. In the last week his balance had finally improved enough to graduate from the walker to a cane, and everybody was relieved at the drop in surliness that had accompanied the upgrade. 

Stiles sipped his coffee, letting his eyes roam over Derek’s face, “I know that look, Dad dropped a truth bomb on you, didn’t he?” he smirked. 

“Something like that.” 

“Good. Anything you needed to hear?”

Derek nodded, and Stiles hummed at that and smiled. “Great, then whatever he said, ditto.” 

* * *

Afternoon training was in full swing, the spectators ranged over the patio in lounge chairs. Word had gotten out that today’s training should be particularly entertaining, so in addition to Noah, Derek, and Stiles, who all watched most days, Lydia was there, as was Deputy Parrish still in his uniform. Standing behind Jordan was Braeden, who had come into town for a consultation with Chris, and stopped by for a few minutes to say hello. 

Dr. Geyer was there too, grinning broadly as he watched his blindfolded stepson spin around on the lawn, paint-coated hands held out in front of him. 

At this stage of the game, Liam was covered head to knees in multicolored handprints and swipes, and Malia - who was not blindfolded - was still relatively paint free. The object of the game was two fold, Liam was to control his shift - no claws allowed - in spite of the battle being unfair, and he had to rely on his other senses to defend himself against getting tapped, as well as to land his own strikes. 

Derek could see it was Malia having the greater difficulty with her shift, possibly because this was an elaborate game of ‘chase’ so her coyote instincts would be very close to the surface. Her claws were still in, but her fangs were out, and with every swipe Liam made in her general direction she had started coughing out helpless little giggles, making it even more likely for Liam to locate her. Except the audience was also having difficulty controlling their laughter, especially when Liam managed to leave a bright yellow paint streak all the way down the middle of Malia’s back. 

Liam ripped the sleep mask off over his head and glared at everybody, which was obviously a mistake, because he took his attention off Malia long enough for her to tackle him sideways and leave dayglo orange handprints on both cheeks, her shouts of “I won! I won!” almost completely drowned out by the hoots of laughter and good-natured teasing coming from the patio. 

While Peter walked over to give them both a hand up and move on to the next exercise, Derek looked over at Stiles, who was rosy-cheeked and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Dr. Geyer, his first name escaped Derek, rose from his chair and crossed the grass to Peter, shook his hand and said something to Liam about dinner, and turned to leave. Braeden moved over to Stiles, and started telling him something about her latest bounty, both Lydia and Stiles leaning forward with interest. Parrish was talking to Noah, and getting ready to head back into the station. 

Over on the lawn, Malia threw an arm around a smiling Liam’s shoulder, and Derek could just barely make out Peter telling them the plans for tomorrow’s training. Everyone was relaxed and cheerful, so it was almost inevitable that was the moment Scott decided to show up. 

The weres in the yard all turned as one as Scott came through the house, calling out to Stiles, “Oh, here you are, whoa.” Scott looked around the yard at everybody until his eye caught on Malia and Liam, still arm in arm and covered in paint. Derek watched him bristle and clench his jaw, then do a slow pan of the people gathered and visibly check himself, breaking out in a dimpled smile and calling out a greeting to Liam and Malia. He seemed to ignore the lukewarm reception he was getting, and came around to Stiles, lifting a lawn chair as he approached, which he made a show of squeezing in between Stiles and Derek, bumping up against the legs of Derek’s chair to maneuver a little extra room. Derek pretended he didn’t notice, not moving his own chair to make room, and if it was petty, well, Scott didn’t even bother to say hello to him before plunking himself down with his back to Peter, and at just the right angle to effectively cut Derek out of the little group.

Braeden raised an eyebrow at Derek and he shrugged. Petty was one thing, but it always came back to the same thing, he didn’t want to give Scott a reason to make Stiles choose. Lydia had no compunction though, and stuck her little sandal-covered foot on the leg of Scott’s chair and shoved him backwards a few inches until she could see Derek again. Braeden leaned over and offered a fist bump to her. Scott just looked bewildered. 

“So Scotty,” Stiles said, “finally come over to watch training? I think they finished, you’ll have to show up earlier next time.” 

Scott glanced behind him, a darker look on his face for an instant, then looked back at Stiles. “No dude, I need you to do some research for me.”

“Um, sure man,” Stiles replied, at the same time Lydia said, “Scott…” but Derek was most distracted by the sound of the sheriff’s heart rate picking up at the same time his head jerked up and he started toward them. In his peripheral vision he could see that Peter and Malia had also focused on Noah. Scott didn’t seem to notice. 

Scott continued on, heedless of Noah’s approach, or Lydia’s admonishment, “There’s some kind of weird water creature or something out there in the river off the forestry road. Kind of horse looking but with a bunch of extra teeth. I figured you could look into it.” 

“A kelpie? That’s not a lot to go on,” Lydia said, but Scott waved a hand dismissively. 

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Stiles can look it up, he doesn’t have much going on right now, I don’t want him to feel left out,” he reached over to tap him on the knee, “You’ll be back out there in no time, bro!”

Stiles looked at his cane and back at Scott and said, “Um, yeah okay.” Derek was distracted when Noah walked right past their little group, and into the house, closing the patio door behind him. He smelled… off, anxiety and anger mixed together, but Scott’s attention didn’t so much as flicker toward the man. Derek went to follow him inside, and he heard Peter take his seat and said, “Yes Scott, there must be more to go on than ‘horse-like but more teeth.’ Have you been…” Derek tuned them out as he went into the house and then down the hall to the study. 

“Noah,” he knocked on the frame of the open doorway. Noah was facing away, one arm braced on a cabinet, a glass in hand. He half turned to face Derek, the glass in his hand holding a substantial quantity of whiskey which he gulped down in two long swallows. He set the glass down on the edge of the desk, sat down in his swivel chair and motioned to the cabinet. 

“Help yourself, Derek, and do me a favor, get rid of the bottle.” He sighed and rested his forehead against his hand. Derek took the bottle and capped it, holding it to his chest unsure whether he should stay or give the man his privacy. 

Noah banged his hand down hard on the top of the desk, his face drawn in anger.

“It’s been seven weeks Derek, since my son was almost murdered. Again. He hasn’t even been out of the coma for a month, and Scott wants to pull him back into all of this, this… supernatural mess. When does he get a break? Most of Scott’s pack is super powered, super healing, and he wants to drag him into chasing after some kind of horse monster?” His voice was rising steadily, “He barely got himself off that damned walker, I don’t want him out there! Why can’t they just let him be normal?” 

The last part came as a shout, and Derek held very still, did not flinch, barely breathed as he replied, “I want to keep him safe too, sir. We can deal with it, he doesn’t need to be involved.” 

Noah stared at him, then sagged in his chair. “Oh hell, son, just sit, would you?” He paused, “I don’t want you out in it either. I’m afraid that once he’s better, he’ll throw himself right back into the fight, and then you’ll go chasing after him, trying to protect him, and this place just never gets any better, you know?”

Derek nodded. He understood deep in his bones that there was nothing to keep the next thing from dropping on them, and maybe this time it would be something easy, but the next time and the time after that… It was one of the things Derek tried hard not to dwell on. 

“Today was a good day, you know?” Noah said. “Just friends and family getting together for games, maybe some food later, it’s easy to forget that Peter’s training that _kid_ to be a better fighter so he can keep himself from getting _killed_ . And I don’t know what we can do about that boy’s future, but every day I look at my own _child_ and wish I could get him far away from here.” 

He sighed again, a long shuddering breath, and continued, “I was counting the days until he’d go off to college. I wish he hadn’t come back to deal with Monroe,” the name was a curse in his voice, “he could have stayed away, kept out of all of it. I wanted him to put this hell-town in the rear-view. And now…” he trailed off. 

“And now, there’s no college,” Derek finished.

“There’s no college, _for now_ , realistically, not with the reading thing, or the headaches and all the rest of it,” Noah echoed. “When he’s better, I hope. Most of his scholarships will hold probably, and we’re set for the rest, but in the meantime he’s here getting pulled back in.” 

“Lydia’s leaving in a little over three weeks,” Derek said. 

“Yep, early classes.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward intently, tapping one finger on the desk a few times. “I’ve been thinking about this since Stiles woke up, and it might be too much to ask of you, but I want you to take Stiles and get the hell out of here as soon as he’s recovered enough. Get out and go somewhere stable.”

“Sir?” he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and he wished the bottle clasped in his hands was something stronger than liquor.

“I told you Derek, not ‘sir,’ Noah. And I want you to take Stiles and leave this town, leave the state even. I don’t care if it’s a road trip to Vermont, or opening a coffeehouse in Seattle or something else. Just get him out, and don’t come back.”

Derek’s mind went blank, his blood pulsing in his ears. “He won’t… he would never leave you! I can’t… I’m not…”

“He would, I think. You and Lydia are probably the only two who could get him out of here, with the right push maybe. And we both know it won’t be Lydia.” Noah picked up his empty glass, spun it in his hand a couple of times, then set it back down with a frown.

“He’s not going to leave you now, maybe college could have gotten him away for awhile, but he’d never leave you behind just for himself.”

The sheriff smiled a bit to himself, then said, “I’ll tell you something even Stiles doesn’t know yet, and you’ve got to keep it to yourself for now, I’m not running for re-election. Once my term is up, there’s nothing keeping me here except Stiles.” 

“You’d leave Beacon Hills?” 

“You think I haven’t already given this town my pound of flesh?” Noah asked. “I’ll leave sooner if I can swing it with a replacement. Hasn’t he given enough? Haven’t you? Not one of us needs to bleed dry for the land, Derek. Yeah, if Stiles left, I’d leave town and shake off the dust.” 

“Where would you go?” Derek asked.

“Wherever you two end up.” Derek’s heart was the one racing now, because there was no trick in the sheriff’s words, and the scent coming from him was calm and steady. Derek felt a burst of yearning, could it be that easy? Could he simply take Stiles and leave all of this behind, the constant fighting and uncertainty? He tamped the idea down as quickly as he could, because that wasn’t his life. He didn’t get to just leave, and why would anybody trust him alone to keep Stiles safe? But if Noah wasn’t staying either…

He could still hear the low murmur of conversation from the yard, thought of the extra protection, his own family, taking turns, night after night to see that both Stilinskis were protected, and without thinking he asked, “But why me, what about the pack?”

“The pack? The only pack I see are the few of you that have been there every single day and night, looking after us. Your family, the Dunbar kid, and Lydia. Besides, I trust you, and,” he thought for a moment, “I think I’m starting to understand what he is to you.”

Derek blushed and looked away, “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Stiles talked to me about anchors after we found Malia, explained to me as well as he could how it works, since she was saying he was hers. He told me about Scott and Allison, and he also told me that your anchor was anger, and Peter’s was revenge. Now, I’ve been talking to Peter and sitting in on some of the chats he’s had with Liam, and he says these things can change, especially in extreme situations. I think that might be true for both of you, yeah?” 

Derek nodded, and Noah continued, “He’s been teaching Liam it’s better to have more than one anchor, but some werewolves don’t. And I’ve seen you with Stiles, not just since the attack, but going back awhile.” He paused, and waited until Derek raised his eyes to look at him, then said carefully, “Am I right in thinking he might be your anchor?”

Derek ducked his head and said softly, “Yes.” 

“Hmmm….” The sheriff gazed at him for a bit then pushed himself out of his chair and walked around the desk. Leaning against it he said, “I know our experiences are very different, but I understand what it’s like to need somebody who keeps you pointing true north. It gives you a sense of peace, even in the middle of chaos. I think maybe my son has found that too.”

Then he walked out of the room leaving Derek deep in thought about what the man was implying. 

Once he was able to tuck those words away, Derek followed Noah back into the yard. Scott and Braeden had gone, and Liam was wiping up paint streaks the best he could before going home for dinner. The rest of them had pulled the patio chairs into a circle and settled in, Lydia had brought a laptop out, and Malia was reading over her shoulder. The chair next to Stiles was open, so Derek sat down and asked him, “Where’s Scott?”

“He had a date,” Stiles said, and pulled an irritated face. “He wasn’t here for help, wanted you and Mal to go after it.” 

Malia muttered, “Typical Scott,” under her breath, and Lydia cracked a grin, adding, “Yes, we looked up ‘horse thing with lots of teeth’ which was obviously not helpful, so we told him he should go do a little more of his own investigation, and that’s when he said he didn’t have time because it’s his one month anniversary with who was it? Christy?” 

Derek said, “I’ll look into it tomorrow.” 

Stiles put a hand on his arm and said, “No Der, not your job. Malia’s either.”

“Especially,” said Lydia, “when all we’ve got is bad intel. Leave it for the others, you’re not responsible for everything, Derek.” 

Noah gave Derek a long look, the weight of the request still in the sheriff’s eyes. Stiles’ hand was still on his arm, Lydia and his uncle were passing the laptop back and forth and having a friendly argument over something on the screen, and Malia was smiling at them both with her arm slung around Lydia. It was like the final piece of a puzzle dropping into place and he realized that Noah was trying to save his family, his pack, and he trusted Derek to help him. In the wake of that trust there was only one thing he could do, knowing in that moment that he wanted to do it. He caught the sheriff’s eye again, slowly nodded his answer, and watched the man relax and smile back at him, his expression holding something that it took Derek a moment to recognize as pride. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I started thinking about what "werewolf 101" would actually look like if you're a bitten wolf, and this chapter happened. Sorry, not sorry. Also, it would have been several more days/possibly no ending were it not for my trusty beta. Thanks PDXTrent. (BTW, I've been reading his new FTH story and OMG. 😍😭 Might want to subscribe to his profile if you haven't already, so you don't miss it when it starts posting.)
> 
> I have feelings about anchors too... it might come up again.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you like the newest chapter. Ch 6 is coming along. As always, comments and kudos are love. Got any thoughts on Werewolf training games?


	6. Chapter 6

When Derek arrived at the Stilinski house the next morning, Peter was sitting in his car at the curb. Derek got out of his truck, walked over and bent down to look through the window. Peter tipped his head in a ‘get in’ gesture, so he opened the door and lowered himself into the passenger seat of the sports car. 

“They had a rough night,” Peter said, not waiting for Derek to ask, “They’re safe,” he added, dragging Derek back down into the seat when Derek hurried to get out. 

“What happened? Is Stiles okay?” Things had been going so well, Stiles’ speech aphasia seemed to be improving steadily, and although they still had to be careful about soft foods, his physical injuries had also gotten much better. Derek was starting to hope that it would simply be a matter of time and continuous improvement, and Peter was making him nervous. 

“You need to control yourself, first of all,” Peter motioned to his own face, calling attention to Derek’s flashing eyes. He took a few breaths, drawing his eyes back to human color, while Peter waited him out.

“Why are you out here in the car?” he asked, when he’d gotten ahold of his panic. 

“Illusion of privacy,” Peter said, holding a hand up to stall the next question, “Yes, I do know what happened, but you need to remember that they have their pride. Let them tell you what they want you to know, when they’re ready. They don’t have to know I’ve told you anything.”

“Stiles is going to know you listened in on whatever it was,” Derek replied.

“Well yes, he is the clever one, but we can all pretend.” 

“Peter,” Derek said, his instincts were telling him to get in there and _protect_ , if Peter wasn’t going to give him a reason to stay out, “Just tell me what happened. Please.” 

“Did you know he can’t read?” Peter asked.

“No, that’s not right, I know he was having some trouble, but Lydia was working on it with him,” he said, remembering the card games and pattern recognition things she was doing with him in the hospital. 

Peter shrugged, and opened his mouth to say something else. This time it was Derek who held up the palm of his hand, and said, “No on second thought, whatever you heard, if they’re safe, I can wait until they tell me.”

“They’re safe,” Peter said again, “I wouldn’t allow any outside harm to come to them.”

Derek got out of the car then, and Peter said, “Text me if you need anything today.” As he drove away from the curb, the house door opened and Noah waved at Derek to come in. He could see from where he was standing the exhaustion and worry on Noah’s face, and when he stepped inside the house, he caught the iron smell of blood and the tang of peroxide. Turning he saw Stiles asleep on the couch, curled up in a blanket. 

Noah motioned him into the kitchen, setting out the water kettle and tea, waiting for Derek to sit down at the counter and start a cup as if the day were ordinary. Derek felt stiff and on edge, and wanted nothing more than to go out into the living room, pull the blanket aside and see for himself the reasons for the smell of blood. But he waited for Stiles’ father to tell him in his own way. 

After what felt like aeons passing, Noah sighed and started speaking. “Stiles had a nightmare, like the ones he had for a long time after… well, you know.” Derek didn’t know, but he held his tongue, it wasn’t important right now which event gave Stiles nightmares, but they must be significant to be mentioned in that way. Noah continued, “He, well… it woke both of us, and by the time I got in there, he’d gotten up and made it halfway around the room before falling.” 

Derek’s heart started pounding and he moved to go to Stiles, “His head?” but the sheriff caught his arm and said, “No, his head’s fine. He fell and caught his arm here,” he touched his upper arm, “ _just_ his arm, on the corner of an exposed shelf bracket. It was sharp enough to leave a bit of a gash, but he didn’t hit his head, Derek. It’s fine, we bandaged it up fine, he won’t need stitches.” 

Derek sat back down on the kitchen stool and took a shuddering breath in, waiting for Noah to tell him the rest. When he didn’t seem like he was going to tell him anything else, Derek asked, “What can I do to help?” 

From the doorway, a sleep rumpled Stiles cleared his throat and said, “Sorry I worried everybody. I’m fine, just a little tantrum.” 

“Stiles,” Noah said. 

“Dad,” Stiles replied, “just, go on, I know you were planning to go into the station today, so go ahead. I’m _fine_ and I have my babysitter so you don’t need to worry about me.” He turned and smiled at Derek, but he could see that Stiles was hollow-eyed with fatigue, his grip white-knuckled on the cane he was leaning on more heavily than usual. Noah closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Stiles in a hug, and told him quietly, “I’ll always worry about you, that’s my job.” 

Stiles mumbled something back that Derek couldn’t quite decipher, then he heard Noah answer, “I’ll go in, but only if you remember what I said.” Stiles looked over his father’s shoulder at Derek and nodded. Noah gave him one more squeeze and kissed him on the temple, then let go and grabbed his travel mug from the counter, and headed out.

Stiles came to the counter bar and sat, and Derek could see that not only was he tired, but his expression was drawn with pain. 

“Why didn’t you call Peter in, he could have helped with this sooner?” Derek said as he reached out to start pulling the pain away. 

Stiles shrugged and laid his head down on the cool countertop. The pinched look eased a little, but didn’t go away entirely. When there was nothing more he could take, Derek asked, “Are you still in pain?”

“Eye headache,” he said.

Derek frowned, “Ocular migraine?” When Stiles didn’t answer, Derek stood up and got an icepack from the freezer, wrapped it in a kitchen towel and passed it over. Stiles took it and pressed it to his temple. 

After a few minutes, Stiles said, “How much did Peter tell you?” 

“Not much, he said you both had a rough night. Your dad said it was a nightmare.” 

“Yeah, partly.” He pushed himself up from the counter, bracing himself on the cane. “It would be easier to show you, but just give me a minute, okay?” Derek nodded and waited in the kitchen, listening to Stiles’ uneven gait as he left the room and went up the stairs and into his bedroom. By the time Derek got up there, Stiles was sitting on his bed, the icepack pressed against his temple again, and holding his baseball bat between his knees. 

The smell of blood was stronger in the bedroom, and Stiles waited while Derek looked around, making guesses with what little information he knew. There were books on the floor, a wall shelf looked like it had been ripped down, two exposed metal brackets still in the wall, but one was missing, along with a chunk of the drywall. He could see a few ceramic shards near the window, maybe from a lamp. The paper waste basket was almost completely full of printouts, but other than the obvious things, the room was tidy. 

“Dad cleaned up the blood. I broke a um… a light, he cleaned that too.” 

“How did you hurt yourself, Stiles?” Derek asked gently.

Stiles twirled the bat around a few times, as if he could drill it into the carpet. He kept his eyes cast down, even after he set aside the icepack, then said finally, “I thought the nightmares were gone. I haven’t had one, not since the injury. I woke dad up, Peter too. I guess I screamed pretty loud. He came up here to check on us.” He paused for a long time, twisting the bat back and forth. Derek took a seat in the desk chair and waited. 

“I couldn’t read, in the dream. When I was possessed, I couldn’t read because the words were wrong, and I dreamt it, and I heard… those fucking riddles.” He was quiet again, the sour odor of nausea drifting off of him, and Derek watched Stiles swallow reflexively several times. 

“Should I get you some water?” he asked.

Stiles shook his head and started talking again. “I can’t read, Derek. That part is real, but I, it feels the same, sometimes. And then after, I let dad think I was okay, but when he went back to bed I was trying to look up that stupid kelpie horse thing, and it was the same, just nonsense that I couldn’t read. I kind of freaked. Used the bat, took out that shelf, then because I can’t even hold onto the bat because of my fucking hand, I kind of, um, tipped myself over and…” he waved a hand at the wall with the bracket. 

Derek frowned, “I thought Lydia was helping with the reading aphasia.” 

Stiles’ mouth quirked up in a half smile, “I haven’t been very cooperative, and it’s not always that bad.” 

He took a deep breath then added, “If I’m not too tired, I can read some, it’s hard to use the computer because I type things wrong. So forget research. And I forget words, or what tabs I have open, or like, even using a search engine, and with books, I have to concentrate so hard to figure out what I’m seeing, I can’t flip through anything anymore or even use my bookmarks on the browser because they don’t make sense, what use am I going to be with research? That’s leaving off the fact that I can barely use a screen before my head is killing me. Even talking - I mean I spend all my time trying to think around the words I can’t remember, do you have any idea how tiring that is? Jesus. And like, little things, I have all these texts from people that I can’t answer because even if I can think of the words I want half the time I can’t type them, and do you know how trash the text-to-speech options are on a cellphone?”

His rant ran down, as he picked up his phone and scrolled through a few screens before he laid it back down on the bedside table and picked up the icepack again, pressing it harder into his temple, closing his eyes.

Derek got up and moved to sit next to him on the bed. He drew a little more of his pain off, but it still didn’t seem to help the migraine. He gave some thought to the words Stiles said, more words than he’d heard him speak since he was injured, but unaccompanied by his usual pacing and flailing. He could fix the room, re-hang the shelf and sort the books, smooth out the printouts and tidy away the damaged things, but what could he do for Stiles’ emotional distress, he couldn’t even help with the migraine, he’d never learned the technique for that kind of pain. He tried anyway.

“It’s barely been a month since you woke up.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, because Stiles jerked his arm out of Derek’s hand and turned away to lay down on the bed facing the wall. 

“What if I never get any better than this?” Stiles said.

And Derek thought about all the times so many different people had said to him that it just took time, and how useless that was when he felt so bereft and lost. He considered how those platitudes and assurances would feel like ashes in his mouth, and how he knew, down where all the broken pieces of him still hid, that he would be the last person Stiles would ask for pretty lies, so he said the only thing he could.

“Then I’ll be here to help you figure it out.”

Stiles twisted to look at him for a moment, before rolling back with a sigh. 

“I’m tired, Der. Just let me sleep for awhile before we clean up my mess, okay?”

Derek nodded, even though Stiles couldn’t see him, and left the room closing the door behind him. 

* * *

Mid-morning, he was sitting out on the back patio, reading the book he’d brought, when he heard Scott’s dirt bike coming up the street. He set the book down and went inside in time to catch Scott letting himself in the front door with his key. He startled a little when he saw Derek standing in the living room, and scowled when he held a finger to his lips and motioned for him to follow through to the back yard. 

As soon as they went through, Scott said, “I didn’t think you were here, I didn’t see your truck.” 

Derek grunted, his truck was parked in the street one house over, and Scott’s lack of awareness of his surroundings was not Derek’s problem. 

“Why are you here? Where’s Stiles?” Scott asked, without any pretense of friendliness. 

“Sleeping.” 

“Why? It’s almost eleven.” 

“What do you need, Scott?” Derek asked, avoiding the question. If Stiles wanted Scott to know about what happened last night, Stiles could tell him. 

Scott moved to the edge of the patio and looked out across the yard for a moment. Still facing away, he asked, “What was Peter doing yesterday with Liam and all the paint?” 

“It was a control exercise.” 

“What for? He’s fine,” Scott said, his voice tight.

Derek knew Scott couldn’t be completely ignorant of how Liam was working with Peter, because Liam had said he would be keeping his alpha in the loop. Scott turned back then to face him, and it was clear that there was a challenge in the question. 

Derek crossed his arms, stiffening up the way he did when he was uncomfortable. That it made him look more intimidating was just a bonus. “Scott, I don’t know what this is about,” he said, “and I don’t have the patience to do this… whatever… with you to figure it out. So will you just tell me?”

“Well, yeah I do need to talk to you about some stuff so I guess it’s good I caught you,” Scott replied. The tone of his voice changed to something that was almost friendly and he asked, “Are you and Peter trying to build some sort of pseudo-pack?” 

Taken aback at the completely unexpected question, as well as the mismatch in words to tone, Derek sat down in one of the patio chairs and told Scott with a tilt of his head to do the same. 

“We _are_ a pack.”

Scott cut him off with a wave, “Well, yeah, like, you’re family. But we both know you’re not a real pack, you don’t have an alpha, so really you’re just two related omegas.” He leaned forward with a broad smile showing all of his perfect white teeth, behaving like he’d just beaten Derek in a contest that only he knew about. It was baffling that he’d lasted so long with so little understanding of what it was to be a werewolf. Had he forgotten that he had his first pack before he was an alpha, or did he just never understand packs in the first place?

“A pack doesn’t require an Alpha, Scott, it only requires a supernatural creature capable of forming a pack bond, and those they form it with.” Scott’s smile rearranged itself into something that Derek couldn’t identify, maybe disbelief or condescension, although his next words tipped it toward the latter.

“Who would even lead that? Peter? Because between you and me, we know you’re no leader,” and wasn’t that sticking the knife in. Derek was acutely aware of his failings as an alpha, he had been completely unprepared for the task of leadership, with no training and no allies. He couldn’t think of a response before Scott carried on. 

“So it must be Peter is building some freaky ‘beta pack,’ starting with you, and what? Liam? Is that why he’s ‘training’ him? Does he think he can steal him, or turn him against me? Or Malia? I’ve barely seen her since the Pueblo, has Peter poisoned her against me too?” 

Scott flashed his eyes red at Derek, who barely kept from responding in kind as he answered, “If your pack bonds were strong, you wouldn’t worry about anybody turning against you, but no, Scott, we’re not trying to take anybody away from you.” 

But Scott interrupted again, with Derek already on the back foot, so out of character was Scott’s verbal assault. “You said I was supposed to protect Beacon Hills!” 

And there, finally, an opening. “I did,” Derek said, “and you said you were going to learn how. Have you learned?”

“I’m the True Alpha!” Scott said, as if no other argument were needed. “I can protect Stiles without you and Peter. And I don’t owe you any explanations for how I run my pack, or who I allow in it, or even how I train them.”

Derek rolled his eyes, on more stable ground now, and said, “Like Liam? He’s been a werewolf for a year and a half and still couldn’t fully control his shift.” 

“So what? If he’d been in full control that night, we’d have lost Stiles!” Scott’s protest was almost a shout. Derek knew this, he and Peter had talked about the reasons for working with the young werewolf, and among the necessary reasons there was also gratitude that his inexperience exposed what the rest of them had missed. Emotionally conflicted or not, the boy still needed training, or he endangered the rest of them. 

Derek said, “A fortunate accident is not a justification for him to avoid learning how to control his abilities.” 

Scott no longer seemed to be listening, as he rose from his chair and stalked toward Derek. He leaned down and hissed in his face. “I know what I’m doing, Derek, we don’t need your ‘training.’ And we don’t need you, or Peter, or even Malia. I can’t trust any of you to keep from murdering people after what happened in the desert, and I don’t need you teaching my pack to kill. We’ve dealt with plenty of threats without you. Even Monroe.”

Derek went still, narrowing his eyes at Scott, and said with icy calm, “As I recall, Kira and the Skin-walkers took down Monroe. You were there, I’m sure you remember.” Before Scott could react, he leaned forward closing the gap until they were nearly nose to nose, and he said, “From what I hear, Kira took down Theo too. The same person who arranged to hurt the Sheriff, who sent the wendigo after Stiles. The same person who’s now your enforcer. Is that who you’re going to use to protect Stiles? Doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, Scott.” 

Scott was already speaking, “Theo paid for his mistakes, I forgave him, and it’s not about Theo! I don’t need your help!”

“You didn’t even listen to Stiles about Theo, of course it’s about him, it’s about all of it!” Derek said, still trying to modulate his voice despite the intensity of his anger. 

“There was a lot happening then, and I saved us from the Beast -” 

“ _Lydia_ saved you from the Beast when she freed Mason!” 

And Scott yelled back, “I stopped the Beast, I did that! It was me!” 

But Derek raised his voice and shouted over him, “You didn’t protect Lydia from Theo, he put her in a coma, and you didn’t protect the sheriff either. We all have blood on our hands, Scott, but not you - you just stand back and pride yourself on never killing, not even to protect the people you claim to love! You call him your brother, but you would sacrifice his safety for the sake of your ideals!” 

He was breathing hard now but still in his human form, although it was a challenge to keep from flashing his eyes at the alpha. He felt a flare of satisfaction that Scott had lost his own control over his shift at Derek’s words, he was almost fully shifted into his beta form, claws out, eyes glowing red, fangs fully elongated. And Derek wasn’t done speaking, as if the dam, now burst, had to be emptied. 

“You’re the alpha, you’re supposed to be the one who steps between your pack and danger, the one who makes the hard decisions so they don’t have to. But it’s never you, saving them, it’s always one of _them_ , stepping in to do what’s necessary. Stiles and Lydia saved Jackson, just like Malia defeated the Desert Wolf, like Stiles,” his breath caught on a sob as the image of the hunter in the desert rose up unbidden in his mind’s eye, raising his hand to strike. He shook himself and continued, reaching for calm but finding it elusive, “like Stiles killed the Anuk-ite and saved all of us.”

And Scott was answering, “No, no that’s not how any of it happened!” 

“Or maybe it’s like what you did to Corey…”

“For information we needed!” 

“... and how it damaged his trust so badly he broke up with Mason and left town.” He’d heard about it from Lydia months ago, what Scott had done to Corey, and how when he left town he told all of them to never contact him again. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought about it. 

“You weren’t there, you don’t know!”

“I was there when you used my body against Gerard!”

Scott finally fell silent. Maybe he didn’t want Derek to remind him that his betrayal didn’t even work. 

“You’re a true alpha, Scott, but it’s not a shield for your virtue, and it doesn’t make you infallible.” Derek continued, his voice lower, “For a brief window of time, when we were all battling the Nogitsune, when you helped rescue me from Mexico, and what happened after that, I thought you might even be a great alpha. What happened to you, Scott? Was it me? Did I fail you too?” 

Scott stared at him, refusing to answer, still shaking his head in negation of everything Derek had said, when he saw that Noah had let himself in through the side gate into the yard, and was standing at the corner of the house, just watching them. Derek wasn’t sure how much he’d overheard, but Scott, seeing where Derek was looking, turned to the sheriff and said, “All of this is Peter’s fault, I never asked for it. And you just let him come around here all the time? Why? How can you trust him? None of this would have happened if he had just died in the fire. I could have still been normal. Stiles could be normal!”

The sheriff looked from Derek to Scott, and then over to the patio door where Stiles was standing just inside the screen. Derek hadn’t noticed him, so focused on Scott that he failed to consciously note his sound and scent.

Noah looked back to Scott, his expression hard, and said, "I was there for that fire, Scott. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Sometimes when I close my eyes at night I still see it. Who I trust is none of your business, and Peter may have bitten you, but you’ve had four years to adapt to what happened to you, including three years as an alpha. I think it’s time for you to grow up.” He walked past both of them into the house, brushing a firm hand down Derek’s arm as he passed. 

Stiles stepped out of the house onto the patio, his cane in his grip. He still looked exhausted and in pain, and Derek wanted to go to him and help him, but he was afraid that they had come all at once to the moment he’d been dreading, when Stiles would have to choose between them. 

Scott seemed to think so too, and turned to Stiles, motioning to Derek. “You hear what they’re saying, Stiles? All I want is for you to go back to normal, so we can be a pack like we used to be! You were my pack first, you don’t need them!”

Stiles looked from Scott to Derek, and then back to Scott, his face drawn and pinched into a pained frown, and he said bitterly, “I’m not ever going to be normal again, Scott.” 

“Not with Derek hovering over you all the time you won’t, coddling you, keeping your pack away.” Scott moved closer to Stiles, his brows pinched together in concern, his eyes earnest. 

Stiles looked away and said, “He helps me, Scott. What do you do?” 

“I’m your alpha!” Scott cried, as if it were the answer to all questions.

Stiles looked at him for a long, silent moment, then said, “You’re not my alpha. You used to be my best friend. Are you still?” 

Instead of confirmation, Scott turned a glowering look on Derek before responding to Stiles, his voice hard. “You’re going to have to pick a side, Stiles. You can’t be in both packs.”

Stiles stared his friend in the eye and said, “That’s not an answer.” 

Scott shrugged and spun to leave. His bike engine fired up a few seconds later and they heard him pealing out of the drive. Derek turned to Stiles just in time to see his knees buckle, and Derek was there in an instant to catch him, but Stiles yanked himself upright by the back of the chair, shaking him off. 

“Get off me,” he said, and, “Fuck.”

“ _Fuck_!” he said again, and dragged himself around the front of the chair, Derek following with his hands out ready to break his fall. He shoved him away and collapsed into the chair. “Leave me alone, Derek.” 

He looked wide-eyed from Stiles, to Noah, still standing in the patio doorway watching sympathetically. His heart was pounding and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, like the sky was caving in on him. He reached out for Stiles again, wanting to help him with his pain, but Stiles slapped his hand away and shouted, “Get out, Derek, just go home! Leave me alone!” 

And Derek turned without a word and fled. 

* * *

Derek lost track of time as he drove aimlessly through the residential streets, around downtown, then out to the county line, and wound slowly back down through the Preserve until he found himself pulling up to the site of his old house. He hadn’t intended to come here, but there was a sort of synchronicity to it, coming back to what he’d lost, when faced with what he might be losing. 

His phone had sounded several times with notifications, and as he picked it up to look, it started to ring, Lydia’s name and image popping up on the screen. He silenced it, and laid it face down on the passenger seat, then got out of the SUV and walked over to sit on a stone bench along the edge of the clearing. Where the foundation had been, the ground was cleared and leveled, and over-seeded with some sort of wildflower mix, a few fir saplings growing up through the midst of the grasses and flowers. 

Derek knew that at some point, Peter had settled the back taxes and other expenses with the county and reclaimed the property. He hadn’t been to the site since then, but Derek was relieved to see that nothing had been rebuilt on the old site. He sat there for a long time while his mind drifted lightly from the morning’s argument, to his family, to the breeze through the trees and the late afternoon sun. After awhile, he wasn’t sure how long, he heard Lydia’s Prius bumping slowly up the gravel road. She drove up next to Derek’s SUV and he heard both doors opening, then the sound of her going around to the trunk, then Stiles’ voice.

“I have my fucking cane!” he objected, then the sound of metal on metal, clicking into place. 

“No. You will not. Give me that,” Lydia scolded. “If you’re going to be stumbling through the woods you will use this so you don’t break your neck and earn yourself another stay in the hospital.” 

Derek smiled slightly, but stayed where he was. For a brief moment he thought about just getting in his truck and running away, but they were right there, and he couldn’t go anywhere without acknowledging them. He sighed.

“Go, shoo. Text me when you’re ready,” Lydia said, and then Derek heard the sound of her backing away, and the walker rolling and crunching over the gravel and rattling as it pushed through the dirt, all the way over to where Derek was sitting, then finally Stiles stood before him holding out a can of coke. 

“Peace offering,” he said. Derek scooted over on the bench and Stiles sat down next to him, pushing the walker away with a sour face. 

“I hate that thing.” 

“How did you find me?” Derek asked. 

“Well, we tried Peter’s condo first, when you didn’t answer any of our texts. He looked up your phone location, the creeperwolf, but it would have been our next guess.” 

He sighed, “I called Lydia to help me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Derek said right away.

“No, it’s not,” Stiles replied. “I was angry, but not at you, and I’m sorry. It’s something I need to fix. I was angry at Scott, and to be honest not being able to read scares the crap out of me, but it’s not going to be an excuse I use to justify lashing out at you the way I did this morning. You don’t deserve that.” 

They sat there together in the silence, pressed lightly shoulder to shoulder. 

Eventually, Derek pointed across the clearing. “That big oak tree just inside the trees held Cora’s treehouse,” it was his own peace offering.

Stiles tilted his head to the side as if he could see it up in the branches, “Just Cora’s? No treehouse for Derek?”

“It was Laura’s first, then mine, then Cora’s. She hid here that night.” 

Stiles pressed harder against his shoulder, and Derek leaned in too, curving his body just a bit toward him. He held his hand out, hovering above Stiles’ arm. “Can I?” 

Stiles nodded, and Derek took his arm. While he took some of the pain from that morning’s fall, Stiles asked, “Do you miss her?” 

He shrugged, “She’s happy where she is.”

“Not what I asked, big guy.” 

They both watched as the black lines on the back of Derek’s hand faded and disappeared while Derek thought about the question. He did miss his sister, but he missed his ten year old sister, and he barely knew the woman she’d grown into. He hadn’t had the chance to get to know her, such was the chaos of the few weeks she was here with him. He felt better knowing she was with pack who loved her and kept her safe. And he felt guilty that they weren’t together as a family, that his own bond to her was secondary to people he’d never met. 

“When my sister was here, she was in danger all the time. I almost watched her die more than once. When she got on the plane to go home, I was relieved. Her pack can keep her safe.” He paused, “I’d rather have her with them even if I miss her, I can’t lose anybody else.” 

Stiles didn’t back away when Derek was done with the pain draw, he rolled his shoulder to test it, then relaxed a little more.

“What Scott said,” Stiles started, and then Derek did pull away to stand up. 

“It’s fine, Stiles. I know he’s your best friend, I don’t blame you.” 

“It’s not fucking fine, Derek, quit saying that!” he snapped, looking up at him. “Jesus, there I go again, sorry. Just… will you sit down, okay? I’m gonna be a fucking adult and talk about some stuff before Lydia comes back and kicks my ass.” 

Derek perched on the edge of the bench, resisting the urge to lean into Stiles again. He wanted the familiar comfort of him, but it still hurt to be unsure of where he stood. Stiles, sighed and started again, “What Scott said about Peter was unacceptable, even for him, and what he said about me having to choose,” he paused, and Derek held himself rigidly still, “well, he doesn’t have any right to ask that of me. I’ve given my pound of flesh.”

Derek huffs out a partial laugh, “That’s what your dad said.”

“When?” Stiles asked, and turned to look at him.

“The other day, never mind.” 

“I don’t even know what Scott and I are to each other anymore. Not for awhile. And even if he were still my best friend, he can’t ask that of me, it doesn’t work that way.”

Derek felt a little of the tension bleed from him, even while he waited for Stiles to say whatever else he came to say. 

“I can’t do this anymore, this fighting, but I don’t know how to get out. I wanted to do that research you know, on the horse thingy, I guess at a gut level I still want to help, but…”

He stopped again, one leg jostling up and down restlessly. Derek thought about reaching out to calm the motion, but the contact felt like too much.

Looking away from him, Stiles added, “I thought college was going to be my ticket out of here, not that I could leave my Dad behind for good. Maryland held my spot and scholarships for me, it was going to work out after we were done with Monroe. But then this happened, and who knows when I’d be able to handle college, they said a full recovery could take years.” 

“You still could go, with accommodations,” Derek said. 

“Don’t blow smoke, Derek,” Stiles answered, then winced. “I just mean I don’t know what, um, what’s it… it would require. I was going to study criminology, you know? Be like my dad, but now… I don’t even know if I want that. And what if it does take years? What else besides college is this going to take from me? What if I can’t read for years, or write, what if I can’t research, can’t ever really be of use to the pack again?” He kicked at the walker, “What if I still need this thing?”

Stiles leaned into him again then, and Derek didn’t draw away when he said, “I'm tired and kind of sad, I guess. I just want out of all the life and death drama, you know?”

Derek nodded, his mind going back to the request Noah had made, and he wondered again if maybe it was that easy.

Stiles nudged him and said, a teasing note to his voice, “So, are you gonna come back? I’ve kind of gotten used to you lurking around my kitchen.”

“Maybe,” Derek said with a little smile.

“Deal.” Stiles messaged Lydia to come back for him using speech-to-text on his phone. Almost immediately Derek heard her car coming back up the gravel road, and he realized she must have been waiting at the bottom of the drive the entire time. 

Stiles stood and braced himself on the handles of his walker, and took a couple of steps, before looking back over his shoulder at Derek. 

“If you don’t want to see me tomorrow, you know, if you need to take a break for yourself, I can ask Malia to come hang. Or even Liam, since he’s not terrible anymore.” Derek took too long to reply, and Stiles shrugged and started walking away carefully across the uneven ground to go to Lydia’s car.

He watched him go, then collected his thoughts enough to call to him, “Stiles?”

“Yeah, big guy,” he said.

“See you the day after tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have thoughts about the ‘wolfy pain drain thing, that it doesn’t work the same for every kind of pain, so in keeping with my theme of medical handwavium, poor Derek doesn’t know the trick of draining migraine pain. I wonder who could teach him? 
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments on my little story!


	7. Chapter 7

At seven am exactly on the second day, Derek knocked lightly on the Stilinskis’ front door. It swung open to reveal the sheriff in street clothes, and Derek was worried that he might already be late. 

The sheriff allayed that worry when he said, “Good morning, son, thanks for coming earlier, the others will be here soon.” He held the door wide for Derek and said, “Malia’s around back, Stiles is still sleeping, but I’ll wake him up in a few minutes.” 

He followed the sheriff through the door, closing it behind him, and into the kitchen, where he held out the paper box he was carrying. The man took it with a mischievous grin, lifted the lid and said, “Donuts, hmm? You know the way to my heart, won’t do you any favors with Stiles though.” 

“They’re for everyone sir, but -” Derek reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a king size bag of Reese's Pieces, and the sheriff smothered a laugh, “Got your Stilinski bribery sorted already, hmm?”

He ducked his head to hide his hopeful smile, “Yes, sir,” he replied.

“Still Noah.” 

“Noah.” Derek straightened up to his full height and looked Noah in the eyes. “I’m sorry for fighting with Scott in your home. I should have ignored him.”

Noah waved his hand like he could wave the words away and answered, “Apology accepted but unnecessary. That kid has a way of getting under a man’s skin, and lately he’s not making a lot of good decisions, or listening to anybody who could help him. You and Stiles sorted out?” 

“I don’t know,” he said softly. 

Noah nodded at him decisively and said, “You’ll be fine, but we can both expect better of him. Stiles is going through some things, but the way he treated you, that’s not the way we deal with our problems. You don’t have to accept that.” 

Derek caught movement at the back screen door, and Noah turned to see what he’d noticed. Malia was standing on the step in her coyote form, looking through the screen at the two of them, her furry ears perked forward and tongue hanging out in a friendly pant. 

Noah grinned at her and said, “Hey Malia, look who’s here,” then laughed when she closed her muzzle and tilted her head to one side, looking at Derek. He handed Derek a mug of tea and gave him a little nudge toward the back door. 

Derek went through, running a hand through the fur on his cousin’s neck as he did. He walked across the patio and sat in one of the chairs. “Malia. Quiet night?” he asked. Her tail thumped twice on the ground, then she shifted and grabbed some sweats and a hoodie off the chair, pulled them on and sat down across from him. He raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Night watch is boring, and I’m a better guard as a coyote.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I smell donuts, you didn’t give them all to Noah did you?” Without waiting for his answer, she hopped up and hurried inside. Derek heard a little scuffle, Noah’s objection, and a few seconds later she emerged with a donut held out in front of her in victory, like it was a rabbit she caught. 

She took a huge bite, sat down again cross legged on a big adirondack chair, and through her mouthful of pastry said, “I hear you told off Scott. Good job, cousin. Stiles said he yelled at you. Don’t let him do that. I don’t let him do that, you shouldn’t either.” 

Malia finished the donut in two more bites, and they both looked to the patio door as Stiles came through. 

“Hey you’re up,” Derek said, and Stiles squeezed his shoulder as he came around to sit down. 

“Don’t think I missed the giant box of heart attack you brought,” Stiles scolded. Derek smirked and handed him the bag of Reese’s. 

“Aw, yes! Candy breakfast!” Stiles said, and tore the bag open, pouring candies directly into his mouth. “Heard from Liam yet?” he asked Malia. 

“It was pretty bad. That’s why your dad called an early pack meeting, everybody else will be here soon.”

“How bad?”

“Nobody died,” she replied. 

Derek looked between the two of them, confused, “What happened to Liam?” 

“He and Theo went after the kelpie,” Stiles said. 

“What? Why? Where was Scott? And why didn’t he take one of us? Did we even know for sure that’s what it was?”

“Slow down, dude, we don’t know much more than you do,” Stiles answered, “he just told us he was going up to check it out when he switched off with Malia yesterday.” Derek looked to Malia for confirmation and she nodded. 

“Kids?” Noah appeared at the door, “Peter’s here, and Liam’s dad is on his way. Malia, are you staying too?” 

“Yes. Lydia said she’ll be here late, but her mom can’t make it.” She popped up from her chair and led the other two inside, where she said hello to Peter. He scented her subtly, looking smug, then she went to stand next to Noah. Derek got the impression she knew exactly what was going on. He hated it when Peter kept things from him, it made it hard to trust him, but the sheriff was involved, and he was smart enough to rein in Peter’s worst tendencies. 

He heard two sets of footsteps coming up the walkway, one he recognized as Chris. Noah opened the door to see he was accompanied by Melissa. Derek looked to his uncle, but Peter was having a wordless exchange with the Hunter, while Melissa looked puzzled. Dr. Geyer arrived right behind them, and Noah stepped forward to usher him in. 

“David, I assume you know everyone,” Noah said. “If we’re all here, we should get started.” 

Peter moved back to the door, just as Derek caught the sound of a motorcycle coming up the street. 

“There’s one more,” he said, and opened the door to let Braeden in. Stiles looked to Derek in question, but he had no idea why she was here, not to mention the rest of it, and he shrugged slightly.

Melissa looked from Chris to Braeden, then over to Peter, and then back at Chris, “A pack meeting without my son? What’s going on here, Chris?”

It was Noah that answered, “I’m sorry Mel, we didn’t ask Scott for a reason, I’m gonna ask you to trust me on this, okay?” She nodded reluctantly, and Noah motioned around the room, “Please, everybody have a seat.” 

They all moved to sit, leaving Braeden and Chris standing back against the walls, and Peter perched on the arm of Malia’s chair. Dr. Geyer remained standing and Noah motioned to him to begin. The door opened one more time and Lydia hurried in and took a seat on the sofa between Melissa and Noah.

David looked to Melissa first and said, “I’m sorry, Mel.” Then he turned to the rest of the room and started talking. 

“Yesterday afternoon, the alpha sent my son, Theo and Mason out to the Preserve to deal with a creature that was causing problems on the trail. They were told that it was a small kelpie they could just move along to another area, and that they could handle it themselves. Mason went with them to take notes. It was not a kelpie, it was a Wihwin.” 

“Shit,” Stiles said under his breath. Lydia made a small noise of horror.

David held up a hand to stop any questions and continued, “I knew where they were going,” he continued, “and asked them why they weren’t taking Peter or Malia, or even Scott with them for backup. He told me Scott told him not to bother any Hales, and that it was not much of a threat. He sounded quite confident he could handle it himself.”

Melissa started to object, but Noah shook his head at her, and she settled back after throwing an angry look in Peter’s direction, as if it were his fault.

“What’s a Wihwin,” Derek asked Stiles in an undertone.

"Huge-ass horse monster with a gajillion teeth,” he whispered back. 

“Quite,” said David, “in fact it was _two_ ‘huge-ass horse monsters.’ If it hadn’t been for Peter’s training these last few weeks, it would be two Wihwin, and three dead boys. Of that I have no doubt.” 

“They still should have asked me,” Malia said. “At least I know how to survey before a hunt.”

Peter laid a hand on the back of her neck and she subsided with a small growl, “I like Liam, we’re friends now.”

Noah smiled at Malia briefly then said to David, “Nobody else has heard what happened to the boys, so why don’t you tell us the rest, please.” 

The doctor continued in a calm voice that was belied by the acrid scent of fury permeating the room. Derek caught sight of Malia flaring her nostrils at the scent, her own anger rising up to match it. 

“While Liam and Theo dealt with the one Wihwin they found, the second one, of which they were not aware, attacked Mason, who was waiting some distance away. Liam got to him in time to save him, but not to prevent injury. It left Theo to finish fighting the larger creature on his own, and although he managed to kill it, he was also severely injured. Liam killed the smaller creature, but was hurt badly enough he couldn’t get the other two back to the vehicle. He called me.” 

“How are they now?” Chris asked quietly.

David turned to him and said, “Unusually slow to heal for both my son and Theo, but they’ll be fine, Jenna stayed with them so I could be here. Mason has a concussion and I had to stitch a massive tear in his arm from being bitten, he’ll have to take full spectrum antibiotics, and be monitored, because we have no idea about bacteria or venom among other things. And we’re hiding it from his parents,” he looked over at Noah, “which I have a huge problem with. I know most of them have special abilities, but they’re still only kids, the parents should know!”

“Where was Scott?” Peter asked, although Derek could see he already knew the answer.

“Liam said Scott said he was ‘busy.’” David sneered.

Melissa sat forward and pointed at David, “I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”

“He’s their alpha, Melissa, their leader, it’s his responsibility to protect them, or prepare them so they can protect themselves, he shouldn’t have sent them in alone.”

“Is that what this is about?” she said, “is this some sort of kangaroo court to punish him for a mistake?” She turned and pleaded with Chris, “You set this up without talking to me first, is that really how little you care about my son? I don’t understand why you’d do this to him, this is _not_ fair!” 

“Melissa,” Chris started to answer, and David cut him off, “What’s not fair is sending my child into danger that could have easily been avoided! And an alpha who’s too ‘busy’ to protect his pack!”

Noah stepped forward and motioned for him to remain silent. “Mel, listen, we need you on board, Scott has placed himself in a very precarious position and we're trying to keep him safe too. This is not a tribunal, we just need to make some changes, before one of these kids really does get killed.” 

Next to Derek, Stiles’ pulse was elevated, a slight odor of anxiety underlying the astringent tone of his anger. It almost covered the rapid beat of Melissa’s heart, but not the sharp vinegar of her betrayal. Everyone else in the room was calm or resigned, it seemed as if this meeting, whatever the plan, was more formality than discussion. 

Noah confirmed this as he said, “Just so everybody’s on the same page here, there has been a longstanding pattern of inexperienced decision making, and it endangers the pack and the county, which I’m sworn to protect. I know the doctor feels the same, and for whatever reason, Peter wants to protect Beacon Hills too, can’t say that doesn’t baffle me, but there it is.” 

“Nobody’s going to say that Scott is a bad person,” Noah added, and Peter cleared his throat. 

“Shut up, Peter,” Lydia ordered.

Noah pointed his finger at the beta. “We’re _not_ saying that. But I _am_ going to say that he became an alpha too young and under terrible circumstances, when he barely had a grasp on being a werewolf, hasn’t had the proper training for any of it, and has been resistant to all efforts to train him. Any objections to characterizing the situation this way?” 

Derek was surprised to see Noah look to Stiles with the question, and even more surprised to see Stiles look back at him with a steady pulse, and shake his head. Melissa said nothing.

“Okay then,” Noah said. “We’re doing something about this, and I want to stress that this plan was in the works before yesterday, but what just happened has shown all of us that we can’t stand back and do nothing. Peter?” 

Peter moved forward and opened his mouth, “It all came to a head a few weeks ago, during Stiles convalescence…” 

“Hell no,” Stiles broke in with a rude noise. “I think it’s pretty clear all of you except me and maybe Derek know what’s going on here, don’t think I’ve missed Ms. Former U.S. Marshall over there in the corner, so let’s dispense with the villain monologue and get to it, Uncle Creeper.” 

Derek barely restrained a snort, and Peter rolled his eyes so hard his head followed. 

“Fine,” he said, and Derek saw even Noah trying to hide a smile. They all got serious immediately when Peter spoke again. “We live in a region with an unstable Nemeton, we all know this. It attracts - things - and we can no longer afford the kind of mistakes that are being made. If Satomi’s pack were still here, we would handle this a different way, since she was able to do so much, but McCall’s pack is too small, and too fractured to provide the stability we need, and most of the refugees that came here looking for an alpha have left, or are in process of leaving to new packs.”

“When my sister was the Alpha, there were never fewer than four other packs in the area, two of them were quite large, including the Ito pack which had other supernaturals than only werewolves and humans. In spite of a dormant nemeton, things were relatively stable and quiet.”

Lydia picked up the narrative at that point, “We don’t know at what point the losses were enough to lose containment on the balance, but it’s pretty clear that it wasn’t long after the massacres of the Hale and Talbot packs, leaving only Alpha Ito and one or two smaller more secretive packs to dealt with threats drawn in by the nemeton. I have a theory that this destabilization may have also been responsible for Peter’s condition. We initially thought that some of the incoming refugees could help shore things up here, but most of the refugees are only staying a short time, and none of them have been alphas or other supernaturals who are inclined towards leadership.”

“That people are leaving almost as fast as they come in is telling,” Chris added. “It’s much too big a job for Scott to provide all the leadership necessary, even if he were experienced enough, and this leaves the region too vulnerable. People don’t want to stay.”

Lydia said, “People get hurt, others get hunted, there aren’t enough resources, there are many reasons areas with sacred trees need to have more guardians. We simply don’t have the numbers here, even if things were functioning optimally.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “I’ve contacted a pack for assistance, the LaRose pack.” 

Derek took an audible breath in. “They’re fixers,” he said. 

Peter nodded, “Out of Wisconsin, but somewhat nomadic. I’ve informed them of the vacuum left by Satomi’s demise, of the damaged nemeton, and the situation we have of a single untrained and poorly bonded Alpha. They agreed to come evaluate the situation.” 

Stiles said in a low voice, “Scott’s really not gonna like this, having a strange alpha around.”

Braeden moved off the wall then, stepping up next to Peter. “What LaRose pack really does is to come in as stabilizers,” she said. “They help with things like relocation of packs who need a new place to settle. Rogue hunters, abusive or feral alphas, or training inexperienced ones. For instance, they should have been called in to deal with the Steiner pack, _before_ Deucalion got hold of the twins.”

“They sent you?” Stiles asked. 

“Not that time,” she replied, “that was all Morrell, but I’ve consulted for them on and off for several years.” 

“The Desert Wolf.” 

She tipped her head noncommittally, then went on, “They’re already on their way, I’ve been here for a couple of weeks, doing what I was sent to do. They got my report the day before yesterday.” 

It clicked for Derek, “The other night at training, you knew Scott would stop by.” 

“No, I really was there just to watch the fun. My report was already complete. I did attach an addendum after that but I’m familiar with how Scott works with this pack,” she waved around the room, “we mostly wanted to find out how he was handling his other responsibilities as it concerned the refugees and the nemeton. Turns out, he’s not.” 

“What are you going to do to my son?” Melissa said, her voice low with defensiveness. Chris reached out to support her but she flinched away from him.

Braeden gave her a soft look and answered generally, “LaRose is coming to offer training and support to get things back under control, and to see what they can do about the nemeton. They have a druid with them, one who is more - communicative - than your local druid. This is the short term plan.”

“And then?” Melissa asked. 

“They’ve already decided to help a pack relocate here, to get started, and eventually a few more supernaturals, including a Druid or Emissary.” 

Melissa said, “But we already have Alan.”

Lydia took her hand and said, “We think Dr. Deaton might be a significant part of the problem. I’ve been researching the way he’s handled a number of things the last few years, like the advice he’s given us, especially Scott, and a lot of it is, well, questionable. In a few cases I’d say it’s reprehensible.”

“Yes, LaRose will definitely have questions for him,” Braeden said. 

“This pack will move here permanently?” Derek said, looking from Argent to Braeden. “You’re okay with this, Chris?” 

“I am,” Chris said, and Melissa threw him a look that was pure shock. “I’ve worked with LaRose before, they cleaned up one of the messes left behind by my father. I’ve already been in touch with the new pack, and we’ll have a treaty in place before they arrive.” 

“You can’t do this to Scott.” 

“It’s already done, they’ll be here at the beginning of the month,” Noah said gently. “And this is for all of us, including Scott. He’s failing, and isn’t willing to work with the Hales to learn how to succeed. This is the next solution, and I’m really hoping we can all work together on it. It would be helpful if you were onboard before Chris and I approach Scott.” Melissa nodded, her eyes huge and sad. 

Noah nodded back, then motioned Chris to keep talking, “Tell us about the new pack.” 

“The Alpha, her name is Adina Pecchio, is part of a large pack in upstate New York. The oldest daughter was going to inherit the alpha spark from her mother, but when she passed on, both the daughter and this cousin inherited. They’re not well-suited to dual-alpha leadership, and the cousin is willing to relocate with some of the pack.”

“Why would you bring a newly made alpha in to deal with an existing alpha, isn’t that asking for trouble?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Braeden said, “She understands what she’d be facing with the nemeton, and she’s in her fifties, a mother of adult children, two of whom are coming along with their own families and a few others who want to come out to the West Coast. She’s spent the last twenty years working as in-house counsel for an environmental activist non-profit. Alpha Pecchio knows how to lead, and she’s been briefed on the, shall we say, ‘personnel’ issues… Scott won’t be much of an obstacle, true alpha or not. She wants to help, and she’s not a new alpha. This all happened three years ago. They’ve had plenty of time to adapt and have not made hasty decisions.”

Stiles said, “They won’t hurt him?” 

“It depends,” Peter replied, and Stiles tensed up in alarm, as did Melissa.

“Peter…” Derek said, “No, Stiles, they won’t hurt him, but they will teach him. If he can’t or won’t learn what he needs to know, or can’t learn to work with this Alpha…” 

Peter said, “They can take his alpha spark.” 

Melissa stood abruptly and walked through the room and out the front door. Stiles grabbed his cane and stood to go after her. He turned to the room and said desperately, “Somebody has to make him understand!” 

And Peter replied, “They will, they’re not unjust, and they will be working with all of us, not in secret. It’s an unlikely outcome, but yes, Scott will need to accept how serious this is, and what the consequences will be if he’s unwilling to change.” Stiles looked like his heart was breaking, and he stared at his father for a long moment, who looked steadily back at him, before turning to follow Melissa out the door. He didn’t look at anyone else as he left, not even Derek. 

Derek said to Noah, “Are we sure this is necessary?”

David answered him, “It might be the only way to keep my son safe.”

“And mine,” Noah also replied. “Chris and I will talk to the Hewitts today, David. Peter, I’d like you to come along for proof.” Peter nodded, watching Malia. Derek saw matching looks of determination on his cousin’s and uncle’s faces. 

* * *

“Well that was intense,” Stiles said, as he came back in the house. He hooked his cane on the coat rack and walked into the room massaging his hand and arm with a frown of pain. 

“Is Melissa okay?” Noah asked. 

“Yeah, I think she’s pretty shook up.” He moved into the room, using the furniture for balance, and when he went past Peter, the man caught him by the arm and started drawing his pain. Stiles took a deep breath of relief, and nodded at him in thanks, then added, “She and Chris will have some shit to work out, but she’s been pretty worried about Scott. She's um… going to tell him. What we said. LaRose. But she wants to help.” 

Noah shrugged and said, “I’d expect nothing less. Scott’s her priority, I get that.” 

Lydia and Malia were relaxed against each other on the couch, now that Chris, Braeden, and David had also gone. Lydia patted the next cushion, so Stiles went over and flopped down beside her and looked around the room at who was left. He squinted at Derek, but before he could say anything, Derek went and got the box of donuts and set them on the coffee table. 

Everybody reached for them, including Noah, and Stiles pushed his hands away, saying, “No way Daddio, I saw you in there cramming as many of these in your mouth as you could get away with, no more deep fried sugar for you.” 

Noah sighed, and Peter took two donuts with a flourish. The sheriff glared at him and said, “I’m watching you Hale, don’t go thinking we’re friends now.”

“More like frenemies,” Malia said. “That’s a real thing.” 

A little ripple of laughter and gentle teasing flowed through the room until Stiles broke in to say, “So pops, what’s this big announcement you have?” 

“Well, I thought I’d have a little more time to ease into all of this,” Noah said, “but in view of what’s happened in the last couple of days, I’m guessing it’s time to get this show on the road.” 

Lydia leaned into Malia and whispered, “He’s stalling,” and Malia nodded knowingly. 

Stiles said, “C’mon dad, if we won’t let Peter villain monologue, you don’t get to make speeches either, cut to the chase.”

“Alright, alright already!” He stood up and clapped his hands together, scratched his cheek, and rolled his shoulders, then announced, “I’m not running for reelection, and I’m retiring at the end of my term, sooner if we can get an interim Sheriff appointed. I’ve already asked the county commissioners to consider Parrish, and it’ll help if he decides to seek election.”

Silence blanketed the room for a moment, but Derek could see that Lydia may have known in advance also. She was smiling brightly, both dimples on display. Peter looked surprised for an instant, then relaxed with a small smile on his face.

“Wow, Dad! That’s… are you sure? I mean, that’s amazing! Can you do that? What are you going to do? Jordan? He’s kind of young for sheriff!” 

Lydia cut off Stiles’ babbling, “Jordan is very qualified!” 

“You’re biased!” 

She turned her dimples on him, “Of course I am! He’s my favorite ex-boyfriend.”

Stiles gasped and pulled away from her in mock horror. 

“Oh honey,” Lydia said primly, “we were together for a hot minute, _you’re_ my favorite best friend.”

Stiles kissed her cheek loudly and said, “Such a hmm… peace person… diplomat. I’ll take it.” He started to sit back, then sat upright and crowed, “Also, now I get to tell Jackson he’s number two! In every way! Win-win!” He threw his hands in the air in victory, and Noah rolled his eyes fondly, but he was smiling too, his eyes crinkled up in happiness.

Stiles grinned back at his dad so hard he was almost glowing, and Lydia put an arm around him as if he’d float away without her tethering him. 

“I’m really glad, Pops. I worry about you, it’s dangerous out there!” 

Malia was looking steadily back and forth between Noah and Peter. Derek watched his cousin and his uncle have a silent conversation, then Malia said, “Okay, I have a special announcement too!” She barely paused for breath before shouting, “I’m going to Paris!” 

Lydia burst out laughing, and Peter smiled at Malia with a tender look on his face that Derek couldn’t remember ever seeing. The giddy feeling in the room was contagious, and not just due to breaking the tension of the earlier pack meeting. 

“When are you leaving?” Derek asked, thinking of the care they were still taking to make sure Stiles and Noah were protected around the clock. 

Peter answered, “In the fall I’m taking her, for a Grand Tour of sorts. I’ll take her to Paris, but she’ll be on her own with a Eurail pass after that.”

“I’m going to stay with Lydia for a couple of weeks and then I’m going to spend a few weeks in New York before we go to France.” 

“Are you going to look up Jackson?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes, he’s sort of pack, since Derek was his alpha. I’d like to get to know him. Maybe Isaac too, if he’s willing, I haven’t really met him at all.” 

Derek felt a small glow of acceptance in his chest, he hadn’t known that Malia was even interested in contact with his former betas. 

“I also have news,” Peter said, “although not as joyous as everybody else’s, I’m sure you’ll find this helpful in your future pursuits. Argent called me last night and said he’d located the last Hunter he’d been pursuing who had been a key part of Monroe’s operation. That threat has been eliminated.” 

The sigh of relief that went around the room was palpable, but to Derek it was bittersweet. He would miss having a simple reason to be here as much as he was. He gathered up the loss and tucked it away, determined to do nothing that could put a damper on the atmosphere. That was a problem for another time, all good things come to their end and Derek knew this as well as anybody present. 

“Okay, me next!” Lydia said, then told them all about her plans to stay in student housing, and how her mom had gotten their property manager to pull a few strings and she now had a great little apartment in a nice neighborhood that was within her budget and partially furnished. 

“It might only be available for six months, so I’ll start there and figure out the rest later. I also landed an internship at Lawrence Berkeley Labs for next summer, so I just want to leave this town and never look back.” Derek watched Stiles lay his head on her shoulder, his mouth turning down in exaggerated sadness, and Lydia bumped his head with hers and said, “You goof, I love you to death, but my future was never going to be here, you know that.” 

“I know,” he said softly, “I’d expect nothing less from my future Fields Medal winner. I’m still going to miss you.” 

“Seventeen days until I move,” she said.

“I’m really happy for you, I promise,” Stiles whispered back.

“So Noah,” Peter said, “what are you planning to do for your retirement? You’re much too young to take up bingo.”

Malia turned on him, wide-eyed and said, “I _love_ bingo! If any of you go, you have to take me!”

The sheriff laughed and said, “Nope, no bingo. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of getting out completely. Put the house on the market and downsize. I’ve got a lot of equity in this monstrosity, and I can take my capital gains exemption and rent for awhile until I figure out where to go.” 

“Wow, Dad,” Stiles gave his father a watery smile, “I’m so proud of you!” The two of them had their own wordless communication until Peter interrupted.

“When it sells, you’re welcome to the spare room, since Derek’s leaving.” 

Stiles turned a stricken look on Derek. Around them, the conversation continued as Noah responded, “I’m not going to be your roommate, Peter,” and Malia and Lydia teased them, and Peter smirked and made innuendoes about the spare room and his big bed. But all Derek registered was the fluttering of Stiles’ heart rate, and his wide eyes unblinking, and the way the sound curved around them as the air thickened. 

In his peripheral vision, he could see the others throwing him concerned glances, and he knew he needed to say something quickly, but Derek had never been good with words, or quick, and he didn’t know how he expected this conversation to go, but this wasn’t it.

And although the banter continued on, the silence between Derek and Stiles stretched out painfully, until at last Stiles said, in a broken voice, “You’re leaving?”

Derek looked down at his hands, gathering his courage, as the others went quiet around them, waiting for his reply. Without looking up he answered softly, “Maybe, will you go with me?”

“Where?”

Derek looked up at him then, and he knew he couldn’t hide the hope and longing he felt as he answered, “Anywhere.” 

Understanding dawned on Stiles’ face and he looked around at the rest of them. “This whole meeting is about me leaving too.”

Lydia and Noah immediately started in with their arguments in favor of Stiles leaving town with Derek, stumbling over each other in their enthusiasm. Derek just listened and looked at Stiles who never took his eyes off Derek. 

“Yes.” Stiles finally interrupted his dad, turning to him.

He looked back to Derek and said again, “Yes.” 

“Yes what?” Noah asked.

Stiles replied, “Yes, Derek. Get us out of here.”

And while Noah beamed, and Peter grinned, and Lydia and Malia beat their hands against their thighs like applause, Derek’s heart swelled, as Stiles held his gaze with absolute confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Scott, gonna have to put on his big boy pants now. 
> 
> My beta, PDXTrent said I could end this right here and he'd be happy. What do you think? Should I end it here? 
> 
> Spoiler: I'm not gonna end it here, but I do have to figure out where they're going, so many good places on the west coast, so little time...
> 
> For my local peeps, if you had Hale money, and say, a whole free month (and no 'Rona worries,) where on the West Coast - let's say anywhere from Santa Cruz north to the Canadian border - would you want to go? You can spend it all in one place, or hopscotch around. :)
> 
> Thanks for all the comment and kudo love, it really does keep me motivated. <3


	8. Chapter 8

Derek could see the irony in Scott getting his wish for Derek to leave Beacon Hills, which was something Scott would know if he’d visited Stiles once in the past couple of weeks. It was probably easier that he didn’t, because they all knew the alpha wouldn’t take it well when he found out that Derek wasn’t leaving by himself. 

As much as he wanted to whisk Stiles away under the cover of darkness, they faced a few barriers before they could go. The biggest one was that Stiles was waiting for an upcoming appointment with a fracture specialist to look at his arm. He’d been in fairly constant pain below the site of the break and into his hand, whenever he didn’t have access to a werewolf. While they were relieved to find out that he probably wouldn’t need a follow-up surgery, finding out that improvement would be slow, and some of the nerve damage could be permanent was a little disheartening. 

Then there was the matter of the house. Since Noah was planning to put the house on the market, there was the laborious process of sorting through years of accumulation. The sheriff was doing a fine job of sorting and decluttering, but Stiles veered wildly between wanting to discard everything and wanting to save it all ‘for posterity.’ 

After the twelfth bobble-head superhero figurine that Stiles clutched to his chest and whined about it being “an artifact of cultural significance, Derek!” Derek threw his hands in the air and called Peter. A few hours later, a couple of organizers from a professional moving company showed up to help out. For a minute, Derek thought the sheriff was going to kiss an organizer on the mouth, he was so grateful.

In the midst of all the practical house-moving chaos and medical visits, Lydia left for Berkeley, and LaRose arrived in town. Peter and Braeden brought three of the pack to the house to meet informally with the sheriff. 

As they entered the room, Derek jumped to his feet, staring incredulously at one of the visitors, a tall, graceful man with very dark skin and eyes, his hair close shaved at the sides and twisted into coils at the crown. He was dressed in an elegant white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, the hem tucked into tactical pants. Derek barely registered the two women at his side, as he stepped forward.

“Daniel?” Derek said, his voice full of his disbelief.

“Derekiye,” the man responded immediately. “I had so hoped to find you here when I saw your name in the reports.” He came close to Derek, and bent slightly to put their foreheads together, then as Derek stared wonderingly, he tilted his head this way and that, kissing him tenderly on both cheeks, before folding his arms around him in a warm embrace. Derek raised his arms and gripped the back of the man’s shirt in his fists, and tucked his face into his collarbone breathing deeply. He was big and gentle and familiar, and for a minute Derek felt his chest going warm and tight with a wave of pure nostalgia and longing. 

“Danieliye,” he said weakly, and Daniel chuckled without loosening his grasp.

“So, you have not forgotten all your Amharic yet, I hope.”

Derek leaned back and replied “ _Selam neh_ . I haven’t kept up, _betam asnalew._ ”

“Do not apologize little one, you had other concerns,” Daniel said, and he wiped a tear away from Derek’s face, then slid his hand around to squeeze the back of his neck once, before moving back. Derek looked around himself then, and found both Stilinskis flanking him with concern written on their faces. Stiles had one hand raised which he immediately laid on Derek’s shoulder blade. He then looked at Daniel with undisguised curiosity. Noah, on his other side, stepped forward to shake hands with each guest, starting with the women, and then a much longer handshake with Daniel, looking at him with a similar expression as Stiles’, but with a little more subtlety.

“So this is your family, Derekiye?” Daniel asked. “They are very protective, that is a fine thing.”

Before Derek could respond, Noah said firmly, “Yes, we are his family.” It took Derek by surprise, and he stole a glance at Peter, who was watching the sheriff with a keen look on his face. Braeden cleared her throat then, and Derek flushed when he realized how much he’d disrupted the introductions. 

Noah leaned forward, and when Daniel moved back slightly in deference to the others, he said to the group, “Thank you for your patience. I’m Noah Stilinski, Beacon Hills Sheriff.” Turning to the younger of the two women he said, “You must be Ms. Vasquez. We spoke several times on the phone.”

She answered, “Marisol is fine, Sheriff. May we sit?”

The sheriff motioned them into the room, mostly packed up for the movers now but with enough furniture left to seat everybody there except for one. Braeden remained standing. Derek helped Stiles to the couch with a hand under his arm, since he’d abandoned his cane in his rush to stand with Derek. He caught Daniel watching them speculatively, which he quickly followed up with a warm smile when he caught Derek’s glance. 

Now that the initial shock of seeing his old friend had diminished, Derek turned his attention to the two women. He knew Daniel was a werewolf, and the older of the two women had magic of some sort, she nearly buzzed with energy. She was almost as tall as Derek, mature, with pale skin and hair that had gone mostly silver. Her arms were bare, and from wrists to shoulders he could see they were covered in colorful floral tattoos that looked to be mostly adornment rather than runic or otherwise magical. She caught him looking and she winked and held her arms out in front of her so he could get a better look. 

The other woman was much younger, although older than Derek, and rather than magic, she radiated authority, both in her attitude and in her presence. Daniel had towered over her to such a degree it might have been comical, if not for the ease of command with which she held herself. Her skin was a warm light brown, her eyes a slightly darker tawny than beta gold, and her short black hair curled around her ears and stood up in waves where she had pushed it back from her forehead. She was curvy but solid in a way that Derek knew from experience meant she was absolutely packed with dense muscle, which was the strongest giveaway that she was not a wolf, but something else. 

Noah made his introductions, and invited Marisol to do the same. 

She inclined her head, and said, “Sheriff Stilinski, thank you for inviting us into your home. This is my second, Daniel Solomon, Alpha Werewolf. And this is our Druid, Margot Veilleux.” Both of them flashed their eyes at the group, Daniel’s a brilliant crimson, and Margot’s a brighter version of her own natural blue. 

Derek looked in awe at his old friend, who was a beta when he and Laura had been nearly inseparable. There were so many things he wanted to know now, but most of all he felt regret at having lost touch with the other werewolf. 

Peter leaned forward in his chair and said, “And what are you, Marisol, that you lead this pack with an Alpha as your second.” 

She smiled at him, but turned back to face Noah before answering, “I’m a Were-Bear.” Her smile fell from her face, as both Stilinskis stiffened. Derek knew what they were thinking, even before anything could be said.

Stiles gripped Derek’s arm as he breathed, “Berserker.”

“What? No!” Marisol answered quickly, her dismay showing at the unexpected reaction. “Berserkers are an abomination, as are those who create them. I’m a bear, my full-shift most closely resembles Ursus Arctos.” She flashed her own eyes, a brilliant greenish-gold, extended enormous top and bottom canines, but it was the ears that really made the bear appearance in her beta shift.

Stiles relaxed his grip and extended his hand like he was going to pet the woman, to Derek’s utter chagrin, “Look at the fuzzy ears, Der!” 

Marisol snorted, “Most ferocious beast of the forest and it’s always the ears.” 

Noah rolled his eyes at his son, and Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’ wrist, pulling it back down to his side. 

In answer to the question, Daniel volunteered, “I was still a beta when I joined LaRose, I became second three years back, and an alpha less than two years ago. Hazard of the job. Mari is a good leader, and the work we do is necessary, so I stayed.” 

Marisol, who had shifted back to her human face, said to Noah, “We’d like to bring the rest of the team by in a day or two, to meet with you, but for now there are a few things we need to clarify.” She looked to the Druid, who nodded. “I’d like each of you to understand that we didn’t come here because of Alpha McCall, although that is something that will be addressed through the actions we take. We are here because of your corrupted Nemeton, and because of what we’ve been able to learn about your rogue Druid.” 

Margot picked up from there, reintroducing herself. “I am Margot Oak-Seer Veilleux. When we leave here today, I will be going to your Nemeton to learn about her illness. The Witch-Emissary that accompanied us will be going with us. She is the one who will be staying behind if she is a good fit. It is my belief that your alpha problems stem from these two issues, and they will need to be assessed before we can decide what to do with the Alpha. With your permission, Sheriff, I’d like to ask your Hellhound to accompany us.” 

“Of course,” Noah answered, and tapped out a message on his phone. 

Stiles was leaning forward again, and Derek recognized the expression on his face as the one he got when he figured something out. Derek took a moment to observe the rest of the room, finding everyone with their attention fixed on the sheriff, except for Peter, who was watching Stiles with an amused look on his face. 

“What is it?” Derek asked him quietly, although knowing that nearly everyone would hear him. 

“My dad’s the alpha,” Stiles whispered back gleefully, his eyes wide.

Marisol laughed. “In a pack such as ours, that designation is not as important as the way we choose to work together. In a pack such as yours,” she motioned around the room, “it’s clear that each of you look to Noah for direction, and that he is comfortable with leadership among humans. Some of that will naturally carry over into the way your pack functions. Of course he is still human, not an alpha, so there will be instinctual differences, and if one of your werewolves should become an alpha your pack would experience adjustments. But the stronger your pack bonds are, the less upheaval it would cause.” 

Noah was chuckling too, “Let’s leave the alpha’ing to the real werewolves, son. We’ve got two who know a hell of a lot more about it than I do. I might know about being a sheriff, but that’s above my pay grade.” Marisol gave him a look of approval.

Derek looked to Peter, eyebrows raised in question, and he shrugged in response. Stiles was taking it all in hungrily, the way he would get during research before the injury. 

“Okay,” Marisol said, “Let’s get down to business. Sheriff, we should arrange a meeting between our team and any of your department who is in the know. Our plan, broadly speaking is…” 

* * *

Once their guests had gone, Peter settled into one of the armchairs and folded his hands beneath his chin, elbows propped on the armrests as he looked at Noah. He was still watching Derek with something close to worry and affection, and something else he can’t read, like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Derek didn't know what it was he saw.

“If you have something to say, Hale, don’t hold off on my account,” Noah said, his eyes flicking over to Peter, then back to Derek. 

Peter narrowed his eyes, then said, “What did you mean by telling Daniel that Derek was family?”

Noah replied, “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you? You say ‘pack,’ I say ‘family.’” 

“It’s not precisely the same to a born werewolf, that’s why I asked. Family, as you humans would use it, doesn’t always imply choice or trust. Are you saying you choose Derek as part of your family? Do you trust him?”

Derek was still watching Noah analyze him, that’s what the look was, he was being evaluated for some reason he couldn’t understand. He was still sitting next to Stiles, having returned there after Daniel and the others left, and Stiles leaned into him slightly, nudging him with an elbow. 

Then Noah nodded decisively, turning to Peter, and said, “Yes, every bit as much as Derek has shown he chooses us. And you know I trust him, that’s not even a question.” Peter sat back, his mouth turned up in a satisfied way, and made eye contact with Derek.

The sheriff’s words sat between the four of them, and Derek was aware of Stiles still signalling his agreement, which gave him the push he needed to follow through on something he and Peter had been talking about for several weeks.

“Pack bonds,” he said, “that’s something you could have with us. The connection could make all of us stronger. Even if it doesn’t, we want you to be pack. If you want it.” 

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked. “Aren’t we already pack? Bonds aren’t hmm… word picture… metaphorical! for non-wolves? Pikachu I choose you and all that?”

“You really think you’re Ash in this scenario?” Peter teased. Stiles’ mouth fell open unattractively as he stared at Peter. 

“Close your mouth, kid, before something flies in it,” Noah said. 

“But Peter! Pokemon!” Stiles said to his dad in a ridiculous stage whisper, arms flailing, while Peter smirked.

Derek growled in frustration, the conversational tangents interrupting his train of thought. The others quieted and returned their attention to him while he puzzled over Stiles’ question. He should know about this, having been connected to Scott for so long. Pack bonds shouldn’t be an abstract to him unless… Oh. “Since you weren’t born to a pack, it’s possible the bonds are below your ability to sense them,” he said. Stiles nodded as if it made sense, but Peter was frowning in what looked like skepticism. 

Noah replied, “So if we’re not pack already, how do we become part of yours?”

“It’s the Magic of Werewolves,” Peter answered, like it’s the title of a Disney movie, and Derek huffed in irritation, but his lips turned up in a tiny smile because it was so close to the truth, and when the bonds were strong it did feel magical. 

“Metaphysics,” Derek said, “It’s less ‘magic’ and more just part of being supernatural, an extra sense, you could say.”

Stiles nodded as if he were already familiar with the concept, which he probably was, given his ability to manipulate mountain ash. He twisted to directly face Peter, “What do you mean by ‘it would make us stronger’? What does that mean for us, as humans in a pack?”

Peter said, “For pack humans, or at least humans born in packs, you’ll have a little more energy, have better coordination, heal faster, be a little bit more resistant to getting ill, things like that. It won’t be that observable, but humans in wolf packs usually live very long lives. Theoretically, it should be the same for you.”

“Will it lower my dad’s cholesterol?”

Noah protested, “It’s not that bad!”

“It could be better!” Stiles shot back.

Derek laughed and said, “I don’t know, I guess he’d find out at his next physical?”

“Is this going to make it so Stiles will quit thinking he can hide everything from me?” Noah asks, pointing at his son. He was probably only half joking.

“Probably not, he’s incorrigible, and it won’t make you a mind-reader which is probably a bonus,” Derek said, drawing a loud laugh from Noah, and a squawk of objection from Stiles.

Still smiling, Noah said, “I don’t have to be magic or a spark like Stiles, for this to work?”

“No, you’ll have to learn how it feels though, meditation can help.”

Noah nodded once, firmly, his lips pressed into a thin line, all earlier levity set aside as he said, “Then yes. I want that.”

Stiles looked at him, all pleased excitement and sparkling eyes. “Dad.”

“I mean, if you want it too, Stiles. But if there’s a way to know you’re safe when you leave this place, that would be good. And,” he paused, “it would be nice to feel like I’m part of something more than just my job and you, kiddo.”

Stiles nodded and answered, “Alright pops, let’s do the thing.” They both turned expectantly toward Derek, Stiles said, “What do we have to do? Do you need blood?”

Derek deferred to Peter, who said, “No. It’s kind of a variation on what we do when we take your pain. There’s an intent to move energy. We send intent through a physical connection to help you form the bond.”

“Like the opposite of using your claws,” Stiles said, in not quite a question. Peter made an interested noise, and Stiles added, “I saw Malia use Belasko’s claws on the Desert Wolf.” Derek remembered also that Stiles was there when Boyd died, but he quickly pushed the thought away. 

Peter took a breath like he was going to ask questions, but Derek interrupted him. “Yes, with pack bonds it’s a push. If I were an alpha I would just bite you, not a changing bite but enough to draw blood, and it would be simple. But we talked about it and decided this way is more appropriate. It won’t be as immediate as if I were still an alpha or if I used a bite and Peter and I will need to do it together. You and Noah will need to also focus on accepting.”

“Like my spark and using mountain ash. It’s infused with belief.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in agreement at the apt comparison.

Stiles stood first, stabilizing himself with a hand on Derek’s shoulder, then he looked over at Peter, mouth pulled up and cheek rounded in a smirk. He wasn’t surprised when Stiles had to get one last poke at the other wolf in, “So dad, you sure you want to bond to this guy?” He jerked his head toward Peter. 

“Stiles, there may be things about Peter that I question,” Noah started.

“The v-necks for sure,” Stiles interrupted. Derek choked back a laugh and Stiles winked at him. 

“The point…” the sheriff pointed at Stiles’ face to shut him up, “the point, son, is I trust him to be pack with you.”

Peter snarked, “You’re already ours, Stiles. Both of you. This just puts a ring on it.”

“Oooh another pop culture reference, good one! Wolf’s got jokes today.”

“If you two are done?” Derek said. The sheriff snickered and got up to join Stiles, one arm supporting him as Derek and Peter stood to form a little circle with them. 

Derek looked at Peter and as if on cue, both of them morphed into their beta shift with an identical roll and snap of their heads. Stiles let out a small giggle and Noah grinned at them, drawing a smile from both wolves. 

“It’s so weird when they smile with their wolf faces,” Noah said out of the side of his mouth.

“Super weird.” 

“Focus,” Derek said, and both werewolves extended a clawed hand. When their circle of four was closed, he almost immediately felt warmth blooming in his solar plexus, a feeling of safety, connection and acceptance like a weighted blanket of comfort. He could feel his eyes sharpening in their intensity, and knew, even before he looked at his uncle, that his eyes would also be glowing brighter. 

There was a sensation of fluttering under the breastbone that he knew both Noah and Stiles felt, because both Stilinski men reached up at the same time, each with the hand not being held to press against the solar plexus. 

“Wow,” Stiles said, and Noah nodded and said, “It’s like… being able to hug everybody you love all at once.” 

Derek watched Stiles close his eyes, and sink into the bond. “Is that Lydia?” 

Peter answered, “We weren’t sure it would take, with her immunity.”

Stiles opened his eyes to look at Peter, “She agreed to this? With _you_?” 

“It was her idea.”

Stiles shrugged and his eyes went unfocused as he concentrated, “There are others?”

Peter said, “You can feel that? Very interesting.”

Stiles looked to Derek, and he answered, “Jackson and Isaac.” 

“Because you were their alpha.” Derek nodded. “Cora’s there too.”

Noah said, “Isn’t she in a different pack?” 

“Yes, her main pack, but she’s still bonded to us,” Derek said. He paused, searching for the explanation, “It’s complicated, some of what a bond is can’t really be put into words, if you’re a wolf you just know, so how we explain it to humans loses something in the translation. But you can form as many bonds as both parties or both packs want to nurture. Most werewolves only have one with their own pack, or if they partner into another pack, they’ll form two.”

Stiles turned to Peter, “What about Scott?” 

Peter shook his head, “What fragile bond we had was severed when I was killed.”

Stiles seemed to accept that, then tilted his head and said slowly, “And… Malia?”

Derek answered, “Not with us, do _you_ feel her?”

Stiles concentrated, a frown creasing his forehead and closed his eyes again. “Yeah, not quite as bright of a color as yours and Dad’s and Lydia’s, but definitely there.”

“Colors? What else do you see?” Peter prompts.

“Just like, glowing colors, like little glowing nebula balls or something. All different from each other. What do they look like to you?” 

“I don’t see them at all, I only sense them. Fascinating. That must be your spark.”

Stiles stood there with his eyes closed, clearly still sorting through his new connections, his father supporting him on his feet. Then the smile fell from his face, he shook everyone off, grabbed for his cane and hurried out of the room. They could all hear him climbing the stairs, Derek heard his pulse racing, and smelled the biting metallic scent of his anger and sorrow. 

Derek dropped both hands to his sides in confusion, his beta shift melting back to his human face, and he looked at Noah helplessly.

“Derek, my kid is always thinking three steps ahead of most people around him, but I think you might have more answers for him right now than I do, if you’re thinking of going up there,” Noah said. “We’ll talk more later. I have my own questions, and Peter here is going to help me with how to sense my kid.” He patted him once on the back, then turned to Peter and threw an arm over his shoulder. If he hadn’t been so distracted by Stiles’ abrupt exit, the look on Peter’s face would have been the best thing he’d seen all day.

He made his way slowly up the stairs to Stiles’ room, where he could hear him sniffling. Stiles raised his face to Derek with big tears standing in his eyes and asked in a choked voice, “Why did Scott never let me have this?”

Derek breathed in deeply and held it a moment before exhaling heavily. “Going by what happened here today, I’m not sure he knows how, or even that he can.”

“Why didn’t you teach him Derek?” Stiles cried out, and Derek felt his anguish across the newly formed bond.

“I’m so sorry.”

Stiles deflated and crumpled in on himself when Derek sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. Scott doesn’t take direction very well. And as many times as he insisted he wasn’t in your pack...”

“I didn’t realize he didn’t know,” Derek cut in, “I wasn’t… Laura was supposed to be the alpha. She learned things like this, what a bitten werewolf wouldn’t know, the things they have to be taught. For born wolves it’s like breathing, it’s just something you do when you form a pack. I really didn’t think that he might not know. He’d have a bond with Liam if he recognizes it, or at least he would have in the beginning because he bit him, but any others would take intention to form.” 

Stiles was silent for a bit, fidgeting with the handle on his cane, his face still tense in thought, “What about all the refugees? Does that mean none of them were really ever in Scott’s pack like he’s been saying?”

Derek sighed again, “Probably not. Chris has been helping a lot of them relocate to other packs. I’d guess some of them have formed their own bonds and left on their own.” 

“He’s not even going to know that I’m part of your pack, because I was never in his,” he said, his voice was edged with resentment.

“I don’t think you can look at it that way, Stiles.”

“Can’t I? I can sit here and blame you for not teaching him, or hell, even Deaton should have told him, but he could have tried to learn too. I think maybe my dad understood more about pack than I did.” 

Derek nodded, because Stiles wasn’t wrong. There’s only so much a person can learn from reading bestiaries and pack archival records. “He’s had life experiences where he’s had to build unconventional connections, so maybe.”

Behind them the bedroom window scraped open, startling Stiles into a flail, his cane clattering to the floor. Malia slid through the window and picked the cane up to hand back, then sat next to Stiles, ducking under his arm and rubbing her temple into the side of his face and neck. 

“Um, hey Malia.”

She continued to rub her head along his jawline, his stubble scraping at her hair until it was a frizzy mess and Stiles had started to giggle through his tears at the aggressive scenting. “I felt a thing,” she said, “Do you have a pack now?” 

“Could have used the door,” Stiles said, hugging her with a hand on her head to stop the movement. 

“Why? I knew you were up here. Are you pack with Derek now? You smell like him. More than you usually do.”

Stiles bent forward a little to look at her. “Yes. And you’re my pack too. I can feel it now.” She smiled as broad as Derek had ever seen and cuddled into Stiles’ side in contentment. 

Derek’s curiosity pushed him to ask her, “How long have you felt the pack bond to Stiles?” 

“Since not too long after they found me in the woods.”

“But not with Scott,” Derek replied.

Malia looked away from both of them and said, “No, there was one at first, from me, but Scott said it was good that I was strong and independent, so it went away. I get lonely though.”

Stiles met Derek’s eyes, stunned and sad, and he raised a hand to her cheek to scent mark her back, the way she had done to him every day since he woke up, drawing it down the side of her neck. Derek reached behind Stiles to run a hand down the back of her head and neck in comfort.

“Malia, do you want to have more pack than Stiles?”

Malia’s eyes were round as she nodded, and Stiles smiled softly at her. 

“You’re already family, Malia, we’ve always wanted you,” Derek said. 

She looked at Stiles, “Is your dad pack too?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think that would be good. But I’m still going to Europe.” She held her wrist out to Derek, and his eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.

He took her hand in his, and said, “We’d never try to stop you from doing what makes you happy.” Then he extended his fangs and nicked her wrist, and licked the two little blood spots that welled up. Stiles’ scent sharpened as he almost vibrated with interest between them, and Malia’s went warm and sugary with satisfaction. 

A few seconds later, Peter’s voice drifted up the stairs, “Hello, daughter. Welcome to our pack.” 

“Hello, Peter.” She hopped up, and turned to Derek, flashing her eyes blue at him. He flashed his in response and welcome, and she left the room. He listened, head tilted, until she went out to the yard, and started talking with Noah and Peter, before turning his attention back to Stiles. 

“I know you have questions, so go ahead.” 

Stiles wrinkled his nose and said, “So. Who’s Daniel?”

* * *

“Do you still want to leave?”

“Yes.”

The house had been sorted and cleaned and staged, and the real estate agent was coming by soon. The movers had been there to put things in storage, and Peter was unbearably smug because Noah was going to move into his guest room for a couple of months, rather than renting an apartment. Derek still didn’t know how they’d come to that decision, but the more time they spent together the easier it was to see the friendship forming along with the strengthening pack bonds. 

Peter was supposed to bring the SUV to the Stilinski house, he’d taken it he said, to have one last service before they left town. They were waiting for Scott. 

Over the last couple of weeks, Stiles had laboriously written him text messages and emails, asking him to come see him before they left. Scott finally answered a couple of days ago that he’d come by, but it was the morning of their departure, the realtor’s sign crew had just finished securing the ‘For Sale’ post into the ground, and Stiles was sitting on the front steps looking dejected. 

“Are you sure,” Derek said, “we can wait as long as you want.”

“Nope,” Stiles said, and he pulled himself up by the handrail and looked down the street. “Where is Peter with the truck? I’m ready.” 

As if on cue, they heard a rumble coming up the street, and before it even came into view, Stiles broke into a huge grin and turned to Derek. “Are you kidding me? The Camaro?” 

Derek grinned back and nodded, and Stiles ran down the drive without his cane, Derek following to help if needed. When Peter parked, Stiles draped himself over the hood and crooned into the paint, “Oh baby, I’ve missed you, you pretty pretty girl.” Derek rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help feeling a bubble of happiness at Stiles’ ridiculous antics. 

They loaded up the trunk, with a lot less room than the SUV had, Derek had needed to plot a bit with Noah to make sure Stiles didn’t bring too much. He raised his eyebrows when Stiles came out and put a large stainless canister in the back footwell. 

“Mountain ash. It might be useful,” he said. 

Noah wrapped Stiles in a hug and said, “Better if you just stay out of trouble.” Then he came around the car to embrace Derek, and said, “I finally learned you appreciate a good hug, and here you are leaving. I’m gonna miss you, kid. Take care of my boy.”

Derek smiled into the sheriff’s shoulder and held on, savoring the newfound closeness for a moment. 

With a last round of hugs and handshakes, they left Peter and Noah standing on the sidewalk shoulder to shoulder, and drove away from the house. They drove slowly through town, past the preserve, and then south for a little ways to catch the highway going west out to the coast. The road curved along the Navarro, bending them in and out of trees to catch glimpses of the river here and there, and they both lowered their windows, content to drive without talking in the fresh forest air. After awhile, they came to Highway 1 which would take them along the shoreline going south to their first stop. 

They’d been on the road for just over an hour, when Stiles’ phone chimed with a text. They put the windows up and Stiles played the message over text to speech, the robotic voice reading out with no inflection.

> _From Scotty ten forty two am. Headed over now._

Derek kept his eyes on the road, even though he could smell how his scent turned slightly bitter. Stiles tapped the screen and then spoke his return text very slowly, “We waited for you, but we left an hour ago.”

The reply came through right away, and he played it, the tinny voice sounding too loud in the quiet of the car’s cabin.

> _From Scotty ten forty five am. Okay man have a good vacay. See you when you get back. I’ll call you if I need some research or something._

Stiles put the phone down in the console and leaned his head against the window, his face turned away. Derek pulled the car off the road at the next turn out and killed the engine. They were up on a small beachside overlook, facing the ocean, and Stiles lowered the window again and stared out at the surf for a long time, the faint tinge of his sadness floating back to him on the sea salt breeze. 

Derek got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, leaning up against the rear panel by Stiles’ window. “We…” he started. “We can go back.” 

He shook his head and said, “No, we told him we were leaving and when.”

“Maybe he misunderstood.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, and he looked away. He’d go back, if that’s what Stiles wanted, but his skin crawled with the idea. Stiles pushed his door open and climbed out of the low seat to stand next to him. 

The breeze coming off the Pacific ruffled Stiles’ hair and reddened his cheeks, and they stood together like that for a few minutes watching the seabirds down in the surf’s edge, before Stiles answered, “Scott has always heard what he wanted to hear, no matter what was being said. I hope the Oak-Seer and the rest of them have more luck with him than we did.” 

Then he put his arm around Derek’s shoulder and leaned into his side for a brief hug and said, “Let’s go, Wolfman. It’s time for an adventure.”

With a deep breath of the clean ocean air, they climbed back into the Camaro, and kept driving south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the Camaro! Not a very practical car for a road trip, or for a disabled person, but Stiles doesn't care.
> 
> Time to find our boys some peace out on the road, hmmm? I'm ready (and writing.) Thanks as always to PDXTrent for the beta, and mostly for listening to me whining about how the thing is not just magically writing itself. 
> 
> So... they're heading South first, (remember their starting point is Fake Town somewhere in what we in the real world call Mendocino County,) so where are they heading? Coming next week... 
> 
> Always always love the kudos and comments, which give me the boost to keep writing. xoxoxo


	9. Chapter 9

The further down the road they drove, the easier it got to breathe. Derek remembered how he felt when he and Cora were leaving together after the Darach, they were both just running numb from their pack being torn apart. And even when he left with Braeden, the freedom he experienced was tempered by the urgency of locating the Desert Wolf. 

The first half hour or so after they made the turn onto the coast highway, they only caught glimpses of water, mostly driving through trees and some small agricultural areas. But by and by the road opened out right on the coast line and they sped down the two lane highway with the windows down, a full view of the ocean on the right, and Stiles intermittently fiddling with the radio and dozing in the passenger seat. Derek felt like for the first time in his adult life he was heading towards something he wanted. 

He relaxed, one hand on the wheel and one on the gearshift, enjoying the feel of the road and Stiles’ presence next to him. They stopped at a couple of viewpoints so Stiles could take pictures with his cellphone, which he messaged to his dad. 

In the early afternoon, Derek pulled into a beachside parking lot and turned off the engine. They both got out of the car and stretched, then he came around to Stiles and said, “Grab your cane, we should at least walk out on the beach for a few minutes of this drive.” 

They walked down onto a flat and sheltered sandy beach, at the end of which there were a group of sea lions basking in the sun. Stiles stood watching them for a minute before launching into an explanation of the ‘red triangle’ and marine predators and how most shark attacks are in tropical and subtropical waters, instead of colder water like Northern California. 

“Over a third of all Great White Shark attacks in the US are between right here and Big Sur. It’s a prey rich thingy, uh, ocean, environment! Derek, ‘cause they like to eat those guys over there. Well maybe not those guys, some of them are as big as a shark. But seabirds, surfers, swimming wolves, all fair game. There was one yesterday way up North at Shelter Cove that chomped a kayak.”

Derek indulged his prattle, thinking of how long it had been since he heard him talking so freely. Stiles sounded more and more like his fact-filled self, as his speech got easier, and Derek wondered briefly if the pack bond was helping with some of the smaller difficulties. “Well, we’re not swimming or kayaking so we have nothing to worry about,” Derek said, smiling a little.

“Good thing, they spotted a fifteen footer around here last week. I guess that makes it the...”

“Don’t.” 

“Daddy…” 

“Stiles. Don’t.”

“Shark, doot doo doo doo doo doot! Daddy Shark --”

He started cackling as Derek put his hand over his face to push him away. Stiles took a few running steps toward the shorebreak, staggering sideways once, but righted himself on his cane, still laughing. He walked a little further then stood there looking out at the ocean, breeze in his hair, leaning on the cane while Derek watched quietly. He looked at ease in his body for the first time since the injury, and Derek took his phone from his pocket to record thirty seconds of video, which he sent to Noah.

A few minutes later, he got a reply.

> _Thank you._

They sat down side by side in the sand for a bit until Stiles’ stomach made a noise loud enough to be heard over the surf. “Oh yeah, I might be hungry,” he clapped a hand over his belly, and bumped Derek’s arm with his elbow. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Derek stood and held out a hand to pull Stiles to his feet. 

Bodega Bay was only a few miles down the road. They drove into the tiny little fishing town and out around the marina. A travel guide suggested Spud Point Crab Co for ‘ingredients fresh off a local boat.’

“Obviously we have to go there, Der.” 

“Obviously.” Derek parked at the public lot up the road from the little restaurant, and he could smell the fresh seafood and sourdough from there. They strolled down the marina and took a seat at an outdoor picnic table where they could watch the boats coming and going. While they ate clam chowder and sourdough bread, Stiles used text-to-speech to read an online travel brochure, commenting on all the things there were to do in the area. 

“Pupping! This one says you can see seal pups at Goat Rock Beach during pupping season! Oh my god I love that they call it that. Pupping.”

“That’s half an hour back the way we came,” Derek said sensibly, “and it’s the end of August. We could come back in May.” 

They left there and drove around the bay on a little road that turned into what was practically a single track full of potholes. Derek cringed for his suspension, as if the Camaro had never been driven hard before, before connecting back with the main coast highway. They decided to stick to the road running along the Bay before cutting inland through Lagunitas, even though it would add almost an hour to their travel time. 

When they reached the Richmond Bridge heading into Berkeley, it was already rush hour, but the worst of the traffic was going the other direction. Derek wouldn’t say it out loud, but driving across the bridge, with the nearly four miles spent over water, gave him both a thrill and a feeling of nostalgia. The last time he’d driven this span of road had been years ago on a family vacation, and he’d watched the water pass below them from the back seat, sandwiched between Cora’s carseat and Laura. He allowed himself the melancholy of the memory, Stiles quiet in the seat next to him as if he could sense Derek’s mood. 

Once off the bridge, Stiles started turn by turn on his phone to direct them to Lydia’s apartment. She’d had a bit over a week to settle in, and made them promise to visit as their first stop. They found street parking and walked up to a plain four-unit apartment building on nice tree-lined street. They were a few blocks north of the main Berkeley campus and Derek stopped suddenly, turning in place and looking up and down the street. 

“Lydia lives _here_?” he asked.

Stiles said, “That’s what the map says. Why?”

“We own the building.”

“We? What?”

“We. Me, Peter, and Cora,” Derek said. “Hale Investments through one of our property development names I think. Peter handles all of that now. We own that one, and I think there’s one more around here.” He pointed to a large house converted to apartments next door. 

“Huh. Why here?” Stiles asked.

“Some members of our pack went here for school, so we purchased property years ago, in the early eighties I guess. They stayed here, and I think wolves and humans from allied packs probably lived here at times. Peter went here too.” 

Stiles let out a low whistle then said, “During the recession? Good investment.”

Derek shrugged. He didn’t like to think much about the family wealth. It reminded him too much of how it was meant to be in service of a large, thriving pack, and how many of them were gone now.

While they walked around to the entrance, Stiles asked, “You’ve been here?”

“We lived here. Laura and I, right after. Before we went to New York.” 

Stiles said in a low voice, “Do you think we should tell her?”

Derek scoffed at that. “You really think she doesn’t know?” They rang the bell, and Stiles answered him, “Good point.” 

Lydia buzzed the two of them in and they were hardly through the door before she folded Stiles into a hug. His free hand came up around her back, clutching her tightly while still leaning on his cane. When they moved apart, Lydia turned to Derek and held her arms out for the same from him. 

“It feels different now that we're really pack,” she said, her voice muffled into the fabric of his tshirt. 

“Yeah,” he answered, the closeness of it catching him off guard by how natural it felt. He admitted to himself in that moment that he’d always felt a low thrum of jealousy towards Lydia, but with the all the time spent together following Stiles’ injury, and now the pack bond, it seemed to have vanished, leaving only the instinct of safety and caring that he remembered from his childhood as part of a large pack.

When they broke apart finally, he looked around curiously. The apartment was a small split level design with a loft bedroom and enormous arched multi-pane windows running down one entire wall that looked out onto a small garden and privacy wall. The space was beautifully restored in the original Art Nouveau style, with a small but functional modern kitchen and counter bar occupying the area below the loft. The entire place reminded him of Lydia, smart and practical in red lipstick, flower dresses and impossibly high heels.

Stiles flumped down on the sofa and let out a groan of appreciation, and said, “So, Lyds, this is a pretty nice place for a student.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She crossed her arms at him. “You are not at all subtle, Stiles. Yes, I know Peter arranged it, I figured it out about two seconds after telling you about it.”

“Of course you did,” Stiles grinned at her. 

“As long as he stays out of my business, I’ll pretend I don’t know. To be honest, this place makes things a lot easier,” Lydia confessed.

Derek said, “You’re pack now. We’re supposed to help you. We want to.” 

Stiles laughed, then cracked a huge yawn when they looked over. He was leaning over onto the arm of the couch with his eyes closed, and he frowned and yawned again. Then his mouth opened on a little puff of air and he fell asleep before he could tell them what was funny. 

Derek walked over, footsteps nearly silent even on the wood floor, and touched his arm carefully, black lines running up his forearm until Stiles’ frown smoothed out in relief. He stayed looking down over him for a moment, then walked back across the room to Lydia and took a seat on a stool at the little kitchen bar. Lydia sat down too, and looked at him in question. He said, “It’s been a long day. He still does that a lot, falls asleep mid-sentence. And he’s stubborn, sometimes he won’t tell me when he’s in pain. I don’t know why.” 

“Have you asked him why?”

“He says he’s fine, just grumpy.” 

“But you don’t believe him.”

Derek took a deep breath, then blew it out in frustration and said, “I think he’s really good at talking around the truth. And between that and the medications he’s still on, I can’t depend on being able to hear when he’s hiding it from me, or smell when he’s in pain.”

“Do you know why he’d keep that from you?” she asked.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I think he’s afraid I’ll get tired of him needing help and leave.”

“Would you?” Lydia asked.

He glared at her and she smiled and laid a hand over his arm where he was leaning against the counter. “Then Derek, you’ll have to keep telling him. Maybe even with words. I know he’s really good at interpreting ‘werewolf’ but he has a blind spot when it comes to people caring about him, so you’ll have to use English.” The corner of his mouth turned up in response to that, and she poked him in the chest and asked, “Does he know how you feel about him?” 

Derek sent a panicked glance over his shoulder at where Stiles was still asleep and shook his head.

“Of course not,” she sighed, “You’re an idiot, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tell me how he’s doing right now.”

They talked quietly while Stiles slept, and Derek filled her in about the slow but steady improvements in balance and especially his speech, how he’s having less trouble with eating most food, but there doesn’t seem to be much progress yet with reading or especially writing. Lydia had done more research on alexia and agraphia, which she explained was an acquired reading and writing deficit. She had some ideas on how to help if Stiles would cooperate, and they talked about how hard they could push him. 

Although Lydia had only been gone from Beacon Hills for a little more than a week, and he’d talked to her several times since the move, Derek had really missed talking with her on a daily basis. He started thinking of the others they’d left behind, and how now it would just be the two of them on the road, with Stiles still very much in recovery mode. Apprehension crept in too, as he remembered what happened with Scott earlier that morning. This train of thought unsettled him enough so he must have started to withdraw, because Lydia reached forward to give him a little shake.

“What’s worrying you, Derek?” she asked. 

He took a long time to sort through his concerns while Lydia waited patiently, and finally he said, “I’m taking him away from everything that’s familiar. His dad. His doctors.” 

Lydia shot him her very most not-at-all-impressed look and simply said, “Stiles is a grown up who made his own decision to leave Beacon Hills, so don’t go taking on more than you’re actually responsible for.” 

He wrinkled his forehead at her, doubting himself now even though the choices were already in motion. Lydia sighed and patted his cheek like Laura used to do when she thought he was being foolish, and he swatted at her hand. 

“It’s a good plan, Derek. And nothing is written in stone. You can change the destination if you need to, and you can call me anytime.” She paused, “Does it help, now that I’m pack?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then I made the right choice. Now, I have some questions for you about pack dynamics and distance,” she said, and pulled a notebook across the counter and opened it to a bulleted list.

Eventually they ordered food to be delivered since Stiles was still sleeping. Stiles woke when the doorbell rang with the delivery, and started making grumbling noises from the couch. He yawned and stretched, his shirt riding up his abdomen and drawing Derek’s gaze from where he was still standing with the bags of food. Lydia made a noise to get Derek’s attention, and he blushed and walked over to set the food down on the coffee table. 

“Ah man, I ruined our dinner plan,” Stiles said, but Lydia sat down beside him and handed over a plate and utensils and replied, “I’d rather stay in anyways.”

The three of them talked over dinner and on into the evening, all sitting close together on the couch more like a pack than they’d ever been, and the words seemed to be mostly easy for Stiles. Reluctantly though, after spending most of their time in conversation and laughter, they left with the promise to video chat often. 

* * *

The rest of the drive took them about two hours south through San Francisco, across San Jose and back out to the coast and down to where they were staying in Carmel. They missed the Golden Gate Bridge coming and going, and Stiles complained about it good-naturedly, saying they’d have to ‘make a real effort’ next time they visited Lydia. 

It was already late in the evening, and Derek drove as fast as traffic would allow, while Stiles napped again in the passenger seat. There wasn’t much to see on their route, by the time they left the sprawling metropolis of Silicon Valley for the winding road through the foothills going towards Santa Cruz, it was dark. 

* * *

Stiles slept late into the next morning. They’d arrived so late the night before, Derek had helped him to one of the bedrooms where he’d crashed face down onto the bed and was out again immediately. Derek went around to check all the doors and windows, then outside to check the exterior of the house and the property perimeter. Everything seemed secure but they were surrounded by the unfamiliar scents and sounds, with the only familiar thing being the steady beat of Stiles’ heart, and sleep didn’t come easy. So even though he rose early he was just sitting out in a deck chair doing nothing when Stiles came out with a mug of coffee.

“Hey dude, somebody stocked the kitchen for us, it looks like a third grader’s camping trip in there. We’ve got Lucky Charms, stuff for s’mores, and like, those little packets of deli meat. I mean it’s a good thing werewolves can’t get heart disease. Can werewolves get heart disease? ‘Cause all we need is some fun size candy bars and a bunch of soda and it’s heart attack city. I didn’t keep exploring for real food, I figure we can go stock up later maybe buy a vegetable, hmm? You just sitting out here staring at clouds?” 

He walked around the deck, his cane hanging off his arm by the hook of the handle as his free hand touched down lightly on the deck railing for balance until he got around the chairs and sat down facing the sun. He squinted at Derek then closed his eyes against the brightness and relaxed back into the chair and sipped at his coffee.

“You sleep alright, buddy? You’re looking more tired than a werewolf on vacation ought to look. I slept longer than I have since I was in a coma.”

Derek growled at that, and Stiles cracked one eye open to look at him. “Too soon?” Derek frowned at him unhappily, and Stiles opened both eyes and sat forward to really look at him. 

“Sorry man, I take my humor where I can get it, but I can skip the coma jokes for now. You okay? You really do look tired. I guess it was a long drive.” 

“I’m okay,” Derek said. “Had trouble winding down last night.” Stiles nodded, and Derek was grateful he seemed to be willing to drop the subject. In fact, Derek hadn’t slept much at all and had spent much of the night pacing the inside of the house, and sitting in the hallway outside Stiles’ door. Even in the daylight, the impulse to guard and protect was strong, even if he knew it was mostly irrational. 

Stiles finished his coffee and got up to look around the exterior of the house, leaving his cane behind leaning up against his chair and following a set of irregular steps down to a lower patio. 

It took a lot of self control not to go after him and push him about not being careful, but he saw the ire Stiles directed at the things he needed to use to accommodate his injuries. Besides which, yesterday had been a good day and Stiles had gotten plenty of sleep, and Derek needed to remind himself that he wasn’t meant to be a caretaker, but a friend. 

He listened to Stiles moving around below the deck until he called up, “Dude, there’s a fire pit down here and a fancy hipster barbeque too!” 

Derek got up and looked over the edge of the deck at the firepit, and Stiles looked up at him with an open-mouth grin, and flicked a switch, igniting the flame. “Can we use this? Or would that bother you?”

“It’s gas, it’s fine,” he said, touched that Stiles would think to ask about using the fire. There was very little smell to it, at least no burning wood smell, and it was outdoors. He would probably never be comfortable with real wood fires again, particularly indoor fireplaces, but this was okay. Stiles switched the fire pit off again and continued poking around on the patio, dragging a couple of chairs up to the pit and just generally peeking around all the corners. Derek watched from his vantage point on the upper deck, then turned to look out at the view that had been obscured by darkness when they arrived. 

The house was on a bluff overlooking the water, part of a residential or vacation neighborhood, but at the end of a long shared driveway that set it apart from the other homes. The other house was half visible through toyon and manzanita brush. Peter had reserved it for them and described it as a ‘rustic cottage,’ but from what Derek could see, it was a normal house, small with two bedrooms on the main floor where the deck was, and a daylight basement type rec room that opened onto a stone patio where Stiles was. 

The terrain surrounding the house was rocky, with pine and cypress trees on the sides and behind them, and a few tall madrone trees in the sightline out to the ocean. He could hear the surf crashing on the rocks below, and seabirds flew lazy circles out over the water. 

Stiles came back up the steps and plopped down in one of the chairs. “Don’t tell me you guys own this place too?”

Derek turned around and leaned back on the deck railing. “No, it’s a rental.” 

“It can’t be cheap,” Stiles mused. “We’re going to use some of my savings to pay for it.”

“Peter already covered it.” 

“Oh well in that case, we should send him a hallmark card and live it up, eh?” he grinned at the smirk on Derek’s face, then grew serious. “Derek, can I ask you something?” Derek shrugged one shoulder and gave a small nod.

“Why here? I mean, this place is great and all, but it’s kind of the least ‘road trippy’ road trip destination ever. I think I know why, but I guess I need you to break it down for me.” 

Derek took a couple of deep breaths, half turned where he was leaning against the railing, and looked out towards the ocean while he sorted through his thoughts. 

“I think I was ready to leave, but not ready to be so far away from help if we need it,” Derek said carefully. In his peripheral vision he saw Stiles sit up like he wanted to object, then think better of it and relax back into his seat. “I know you’re better now,” he continued when he knew Stiles wasn’t going to interrupt, “but you don’t know how hard it was to see you so hurt. I just needed to be somewhere I felt I could control, where I felt like you’d be safe.” He looked over at Stiles then to see the man nodding like he understood. 

“A regular house with a security system, a hospital ten minutes away, and a good cell phone signal,” Stiles said. 

Derek let out the breath he was holding, feeling the worry lines smooth from his face. “I’m not trying to coddle you, Stiles, but some of this is instinctive caretaking.” 

“No it’s fine, big guy, I think I get it. So how long are we here for?”

“Four weeks, give or take.”

“Alright, let’s get settled in.” Stiles rubbed his hands on his thighs, stood and reached for his cane with a half smile, and went indoors.

* * *

Stiles came into the kitchen where Derek was unpacking the ‘real food’ they’d gotten at the grocery store up the road. He still had no idea how Stiles had managed to get so many Hot Pockets and frozen waffles in with their groceries, he was such a food hypocrite.

“Hey man, do you remember what you did with my lacrosse bag? I need my charger, I think my phone has been completely dead since we were at Lydia’s. I want to call my dad.” 

“I’m not sure, I’ll go find it when I’m done here, or you can just use mine if you don’t want to wait,” Derek reached into his pocket for his phone before he remembered it was in the other room. 

Stiles waved him off, saying he’d wait, and went in and crashed out on the couch and turned on the tv flipping through the available music streaming channels. When Derek was done putting everything away, he went and tracked down the bag in one of the closets, shouting out to Stiles, “Do you want the whole thing, or just the charger?” 

“Just the charger, thanks!” 

He unzipped the bag to see a small case sitting at the top. A faint scent of oil and leather drifted up to him, and under that, the barely-there medicinal smell of powder. He knew it was an invasion of privacy, but he was troubled that Stiles had kept something like this a secret. He quickly located the charger down in an interior pocket, then took it, and the small case into the other room and set them both on the table. 

Stiles looked at it, brows furrowed, then reached for the case and unzipped it to expose a small handgun in a well-worn holster. 

“You’re not the only one with a protective instinct,” he said. “Taurus M85. My usual that I practiced most with was a Beretta 9mm, cop gun, but Dad was worried that if I got in a tight spot, with my hand the way it is, I might not be able to rack the slide or clear it if it jammed.” He picked up the weapon, pushed open the cylinder then gently pressed it closed again. The gun wasn’t loaded. “A revolver’s practically foolproof. Didn’t Braeden teach you all of this?” He picked up the cloth that was in the case and gently wiped off the metal where he’d touched it.

“Yeah.” 

Stiles looked up at him then and said, “I should have said something, I know you don’t like guns. Are you going to be okay with this?” 

Derek watched the ease with which Stiles handled the weapon, before nodding. He could see how well trained he was, which puzzled him. “Why a bat?” he asked.

Stiles blinked at him a few times until he made the connection, “Oh! Well, when all this wolf business started, I was only sixteen. Technically I still can’t carry this, not until I’m twenty-one. I own it legally though.”

“Okay.” 

Stiles looked at him steadily for a moment, then nodded, and zipped the case closed, handing it back to Derek and picking up his charger. “Listen Derek, I feel better knowing it’s there, but if you’re really not comfortable with it or if you change your mind, I’ll send it back to dad. Okay?” 

When Derek came back from putting away the weapon, the phone was charging on the counter and Stiles was digging around in the refrigerator. He backed out with a bottle of sparkling water and a mango, sharing some with Derek as he cut the fruit away from the pit, and scored and inverted one slice. He wiped his hand on a towel and picked his phone up and hit the power button, then set it down and started cutting into another piece of mango. 

They watched idly as the phone went through the boot sequence, flashing through various start up graphics until it resolved to the lock screen. Right away, multiple notifications started lighting up on the screen, one after another, on and on in a barrage of color and sound. Derek looked up at Stiles in alarm as he froze in place still holding the knife, his heart rate skyrocketing. 

Stiles dropped the knife to the counter and looked at Derek with panic in his eyes, “My dad!” he cried and grabbed for the phone, fumbling to unlock it and huffing noisy little breaths. Derek moved around the counter to his side, one hand under his arm supporting him as he slid down the wall clutching the phone in his hand and squinting at the screen. Derek followed him down to the kitchen floor, one hand on the back of his neck. 

“Breathe, Stiles,” he said, almost a reminder to himself, he’d never seen Stiles slip into a panic attack like this, didn’t know it could come on so quickly. His own heartbeat sped up in sympathy, and he struggled to remember what Noah told him to do if this happened.

“I can’t read what it says, I can’t, Derek, my dad,” he was already hyperventilating, and he pushed the phone into Derek’s hand, and Derek took it from him, opening the app to see message after message from Scott. He swiped past all of them to see one message from Noah from the previous evening.

> _7:35pm Hello son, wanted to let you know Scott had a run-in with Marisol and Margot today, and it was a bit tense. Thought I should tell you. We’ve got it handled though._

“It’s okay Stiles, he’s fine, it’s not your dad. Stiles!” 

Derek slid around in front of Stiles and moved in close, knees on either side of where Stiles had drawn his legs up into his chest, head tilted back against the wall, his breath coming in too short to do him any good. Derek laid his hands over Stiles’ arms where they were gripping his legs and said urgently, “Can you hear me? He’s fine, your dad’s fine. He wanted to tell you LaRose spoke with Scott today. Most of those messages were Scott’s, can you hear me? Stiles, you have to breathe!” 

Stiles nodded, a few tears running down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes closed and gasped for air, his mouth open.

Derek whined involuntarily, and pulled Stiles forward, sliding around his side and behind him to lean against the wall, then he repositioned Stiles back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle and pushing his face down into the bend of his neck and shoulder. Stiles was stiff with tension against him and Derek’s own heart was pounding, but he was still in control of his own breathing, and he spoke in a low murmur into the sweat damp skin of Stiles’ neck, “Come on, Stiles, you’re okay, just feel me breathe okay? Your dad is fine, nothing happened. You’re okay....” he kept on speaking nonsense words of reassurance, until gradually Stiles was able to pull longer and easier breaths of air into his lungs, and his heart rate started to return to normal levels.

Derek could feel Stiles’ breath hitching around nearly inaudible sobs and smell the saline of his tears when he finally spoke in a muted tone, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I overreacted like that,” and started pulling away. Derek tightened his arms around him for a second and he nuzzled up into Stiles’ hair almost as a reflex, before dropping his arms so Stiles could move. 

He expected Stiles to go off into another room, maybe feel embarrassed over his break-down, but he was surprised when he only scooted back and turned around to sit against the cupboards facing Derek. 

“So. That happened,” Stiles said, with a little self-deprecating laugh. Derek didn’t laugh with him, just looked at him in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” then a few seconds later he whispered, “No.” 

“Can I do anything?” 

Stiles shook his head, then nodded, then shrugged. He didn’t look up, but reached out with a bare foot and nudged the side of Derek’s own foot. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Was that a pack thing, what you did? It was good.” 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I forgot everything your dad said to do. I’m sorry,” Derek replied.

Stiles took a deep hiccupping breath in and let it out slowly. “I think we both had some kind of fantasy for how this trip was gonna go. Way to get knocked out of that delusion right from the beginning, right?” Derek looked up then and nodded. “Okay big guy. Help me up, I really need to go wash up. Can you read the messages from Scotty and give me the short version when I come back out?” 

Derek stood and extended a hand, pulling Stiles to his feet. He had to suppress the impulse to drag him in close for a hug, and he worried about where that came from since they weren’t really ‘hugging’ friends. As he moved off down the hallway, Stiles threw back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna skype my dad later, I think I need to see for myself he’s fine, but then we need to talk about why you look like you haven’t slept in two days.” 

The best and worst thing about Stiles was how hard it was for Derek to hide anything from him. He huffed out a breath of amusement and picked up Stiles’ phone again, scrolling through Scott’s messages.

> _12:15pm Dude did you know your house is for sale? Wtf man, are you guys moving?_
> 
> _6:01pm: Stopped at your house find out whats happening. Strange pack over there._
> 
> _6:15pm Did you know about this?_
> 
> _9:34am This alpha werebear is at Deatons with a druid. She told me to leave. The druid not the bear_
> 
> _9:38am Pretty sure they can’t come into my territory like this. Can you look some stuff up?_
> 
> _10:16am tried lydia she’s not answering, i need you to look some stuff up._
> 
> _11:08am Nevermind i found out where there staying i’m gonna talk to them_
> 
> _1:12pm Wtf dude one of them is alpha werewolf DID U KNOW ABOUT THIS?_
> 
> _1:14pm Stiles i think i deserve some answers._
> 
> _4:22pm got a certified mail invite to meet with their alphas, says it’s not optional did Derek do this?_

There were several voicemail messages as well, and while he read through the texts, new notifications from the last few minutes displayed at the top of the screen. He set the phone to silent and turned it face down on the counter as Stiles came back out into the room. He was holding onto the wall with his left hand for balance, his right hand opening and closing like he did when it was bothering him. 

“Need a little help, buddy. I forgot my cane out on the deck,” he said with a strained expression on his face. Derek leapt to his feet and helped Stiles to the couch, then went out and retrieved the cane. He sat down next to Stiles and held his hand out, “Do you want me to…”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

While he pulled Stiles' pain away, he filled him in on Scott’s messages and mentioned the voicemails.

“They’re all from Scott, but I didn’t listen to them. Do you want me to play them for you?” he asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“I didn’t think they’d move so quickly, Deaton must be irate, that cryptic asshole.” Stiles started grinning at the thought and said, “I feel like I have an emotional whiplash.”

Derek snorted. Then Stiles let out a small giggle and tipped over into Derek’s side and started laughing big loud belly laughs that sounded painful and cathartic at the same time. It was contagious, and Derek started giggling too, bringing the back of his hand up over his own mouth as if he could hide it, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting toward Stiles, pressing his cheek into the crown of his head and shaking with his own laughter. 

* * *

Hours later, after dinner and after Stiles talked to Noah, who refused to tell him more about the supernatural happenings in town than ‘everybody is fine,’ and promising to help Scott as much as he’d allow, Stiles and Derek ended up on the lower deck in front of the fire. They had a bag of jumbo marshmallows but were dropping more of them into the flames than they managed to eat. 

“So, are you gonna tell me why you look like you had an all-nighter?” Stiles said. Derek had been both expecting the question and hoping Stiles would forget about it.

“No.” He stuffed a marshmallow in his mouth and smirked around it. Stiles threw a marshmallow at him. 

“C’mon dude, we’re feelings buddies now! Emo bros, we cried and everything, you held me in your arms!” Stiles half-taunted him in a singsong voice. Derek’s mouth twitched into what was nearly a smile, he knew that even if it sounded like teasing Stiles would eventually insist on an answer.

“We got in pretty late last night, I didn’t feel like I could let my guard down. It will be better tonight, I know we’re secure, it just took a little time for my instincts to catch up.”

Stiles watched him for a moment, tongue poked out of the side of his lips, processing. “It would have been better if we’d arrived in daylight.” It was a statement, not a question. Derek tipped his head in an affirmative.

“We can plan for it from now on, no more nighttime check-ins unless it’s unavoidable.” 

“That simple?” Derek asked, and he couldn’t help the bit of mocking tone that crept in. Nothing was ever simple in his experience.

Stiles ignored the tone and answered, “Sure Der, you’ve got your things, I’ve got mine.” He went back to looking into the fire, quiet for awhile, but there was now a weird tension between them, the sort of confessional type that seemed to only happen in the dark when people couldn’t see each other's faces.

“I wish I’d had the time to see if there was anything else I could do with my spark besides use mountain ash. Maybe learn some wards or something. I could have used it to take some of our security worries off your shoulders,” Stiles said softly.

“You have time now.”

“I can’t fucking read a text message, how am I going to study any kind of magic how-to, it’s not like I can just look it up on youtube.” Derek could hear the bitterness in the quiet words, and thought back to the last time Stiles had linked his disability with uselessness. He knew it was as much a psychological issue as a problem to be solved, but his abilities only really extended to trying to find a solution. 

“We’ll figure out a way if that’s what you want,” he said. “Between me and Lydia, and maybe Peter, we can figure out a way for you to learn more if that’s what you want.”

Stiles only answered with “hmm…” and Derek dropped the subject but the mood lingered. 

After some time of sitting in companionable silence, Stiles shivered a bit in the evening air and sat up to gather his things. 

“Gonna stay out here for awhile?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Derek replied. “A little longer, flip the fire off?”

Stiles patted him on the shoulder as he moved past and on into the house, turning the gas fire pit off as he went, and Derek leaned back in the Adirondack chair so he could see the stars. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took longer than I had hoped, and I’m still not sure wtf I was doing with this chapter, so we’ll just call it ‘slice of life,’ eh? (Have pity on me.)
> 
> This last week or so was a rough one, like really really. And I’ve had garbage brain all week and took a bunch of sad naps. I lost my little furry anxiety helper, (Murphy, 14 years old, a mini wirehaired doxie, my precious little dude,) and I had no idea how many times a day (and at night too,) I reached out to snuggle him when I got stressed. RIP little buddy.
> 
> Besides all of that, I’m thinking of people affected by the lightning fires in California. Much of this area has been affected, with road closures being the least of the issues. The Redwoods, the California Condors, and parts of Sonoma County are facing devastating losses again. There are fires around Monterey. The hills surrounding San Jose are burning, and more dry lightning is expected with the next weather system. Hundreds of distinct fires that I kept seeing little symbols for as I scrolled around google maps in NorCal.
> 
> It’s hard for me to write the areas they’re traveling through, because part of my process is visualization of the actual topography and weather, etc. And I know there are fires, so I have to keep hitting reset on my thoughts. 
> 
> In my imagination of the Teen Wolf universe, I can pretend that all of the areas Stiles and Derek travel through are still untouched by this real-world tragedy wrought by climate change. But I’m thinking of all of you who might be impacted by this right now.
> 
> As always, thoughts, comments, and kudos are really appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

Derek startled awake in the early morning gloom to bumping noises, a crash, and a moan. He was out of bed and into the living area, claws out and fangs bared, before he could even interpret the sounds he was hearing as coming from Stiles and the kitchen. With his heart pounding as loudly as it was, it took longer than it should have to see that nothing was out of place with the windows and the doors, and they weren’t under threat. 

He shook off his shift and hurried around the kitchen island, where Stiles was hunched up on the floor cradling his arm to his chest, a broken plate several feet away against the other cabinets. He could smell blood, and he slid to his knees in front of Stiles, tugging at his arms and manhandling him into sitting up. 

“Stop, stop! I’m fine,” Stiles protested, even as Derek examined him frantically for injury, talking over him. 

“What’s hurt, did you have a dizzy spell? Did you hit your head?” 

Stiles pushed him away, blocking his hands and inching back until he bumped into the opposite cupboard. “I’m fine! I tripped, okay?”

“You’re bleeding!” He reached for Stiles again, only to be met with hands batting him away. Derek recognized his own panic, but it was like he was watching it happen from outside himself, helpless to stop it as his heart raced and he pawed at Stiles to try to assure himself that they were safe. Some little part of his mind was telling him to back off, that there was no danger here, that he was grossly overreacting, but it was being silenced by the scent of fury, pain, and embarrassment on his packmate, and his own primal need to get closer, closer, shield and protect. 

“Get OFF!” Stiles yelled, pushing him back hard. Derek finally fell back against the wall, his eyes wide, chest heaving with his labored breathing and pounding heart. 

“Fuck! What the fuck, Derek! I tripped!” 

“You… your…” 

“I tripped! Okay? Before I was this - crippled fucking half-wit - I was a spaz! OKAY? I fucking fell down _because I’m a klutz_ not because I’m brain damaged!”

Derek flinched at the ugly words and opened his mouth to stop him, but Stiles shouted him down, bile dripping from his words as he berated himself, and he was still disoriented from how he’d been awakened, thinking they were being attacked. He tottered to his feet and bent to try and help Stiles stand, only to be met with more defiant resistance. When he crouched to pick up the pieces of the broken plate, Stiles kicked out at him. 

“Leave it alone, I can do it! Jesus, Derek, why are you even here, hmm? Take care of the cripple to make you feel better? You- you- _penance?"_

He stood up, a piece of broken crockery in each hand, looking down at Stiles who stared at him with his teeth bared in a rage that he was sure had not been there when Derek first entered the room. It felt like a physical blow, one that he couldn’t ward off. He set the broken plate on the counter and said quietly, “I just want to help.” 

_“I’m not your charity case, Derek!”_

He stood still for a few seconds, then shivered violently and stumbled towards the door, wrenching it open to pass through, already running by the time he left the deck. Vaguely he registered Stiles calling after him, but within seconds he was out of range. 

Derek ran up the driveway and out onto the road, then over to one of the pedestrian trails that ran along the bluffs and down to the little beaches. It was early, the daylight barely breaking, and the only people on the trail were other runners and dog walkers. A few looked at him curiously as he passed, and it took a moment to realize it was because he was barefoot and in sleep pants, and running at a speed just on the edge of unnaturally fast. 

He slowed, and when he’d run for a fair distance, he took a fork in the trail, down a set of stairs to a spot in the cove that was barely even a beach. He walked out the few feet to where the water lapped at the shore, bare feet crunching in the rocks and shells, and stood watching the cold ocean water ebb and flow, letting the motion soothe him. The tiny beach was deserted, but even so, knowing that there were people using the trail just above on the bluff intruded on his sense of stability and privacy. In the forest he could have shifted and walked for miles without having to see any humans, but here in this tourist town, he _was_ a human - had to be human even when he could feel his wolf trying to claw and tear its way to the forefront. 

By the time he gained the cliff back to the trail the sun was fully up, so reluctantly he turned back to their little cottage. He didn’t know what he was going to say or do about what had happened earlier, hadn’t really even thought about it with words yet, he just knew that trying to avoid it would just make everything worse. 

He let himself into the house as quietly as he could, the door was unlocked, and he glanced at the clock as he passed. It was eight in the morning, he’d been out for nearly three hours. Stiles was curled up on the couch in a blanket from his bed, his scent unhappy and exhausted, and his face pale and blotchy. He wanted to take Stiles’ face in his hands and smooth away the tear marks almost as much as he wanted to turn around and just keep running. 

“You left your phone,” he said softly as Derek walked by. “Lydia tried to call you.” Their two cellphones were resting on the coffee table in front of Stiles, so Derek detoured to scoop his up before heading into the shower where he watched the dried blood from the long barefoot run turn back to red in the wet and go swirling down the drain. 

He texted Lydia.

> _We're fine_

I'm fine. We are fine. Alpha. Beta. Omega. Everything. Is. Fine. All. Is. Well. It’s fine.

> _I woke up at 5am to epic levels of not ‘fine.’ I'm going to assume you mean you're safe. Call me. I have a lab until 2. After that._

As he got dressed, he heard Stiles’ message alert sound followed by the artificial voice of the text to speech reader. 

> _From Strawberry Blonde Goddess eight twenty am. Talk to him Stiles. I love you but you’re an idiot. I have labs today so don’t make me come out there._

He almost smiled. Instead he squared his shoulders and went out to the living room and sat down on the other end of the couch. Stiles was still rolled up in his blanket, the only change was the phone in his hand. He set it down next to him on the cushion and turned slightly to face Derek, but didn’t make eye contact. 

“I owe you an apology for the things I said, and for yelling. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s just the injury, Stiles. It’s the ‘emotional dysregulation’ they told us about.” 

Stiles looked up at him then, his mouth open slightly, he closed it and pressed his lips into a thin line. Derek couldn’t read that expression, was he angry again? Frustrated? He smelled mostly tired and anxious. Derek bowed his head and slouched forward, his hands hanging slack between his knees. “It’s okay.” 

He felt rather than saw Stiles shaking his head, “No, it’s not, I mean, it is… I can’t… this is _hard_ Derek, but it’s not,” he made a strangled noise, and stopped talking. 

“It’s okay,” Derek repeated, then started to stand. Stiles put a hand out and snagged the hem of his tshirt. 

“Stay here, please. Give me a minute?” Stiles said, his eyes were pleading. Derek closed his eyes for a second then exhaled and sat back down, his shirt slipping out of Stiles’ fingers. He waited while Stiles went through some breathing or relaxation exercises, until he finally started talking.

“You know how it’s hard for me to find words when I get too stressed,” he started.

“Didn’t seem to have trouble earlier,” Derek snapped, and immediately regretted the reaction.

Stiles grimaced. “That’s fair. I called my therapist while you were out.” 

Derek raised both eyebrows. “This early?”

“East coast.” He flapped a hand as if to say that wasn’t relevant and went on, “She said there were some, um. Strategies. We could practice for when I do this. Outbursts.” 

Derek’s eyebrows went up again, and Stiles clarified, “I mean, in addition to me working on not doing it at all but for, you know, in the meantime. She’s going to send something, a worksheet, to your email. I hope that’s okay.” 

“It’s fine.”

“She said I can’t ask you not to run away because if I attack you then you have a right to get away however you want,” he said, his eyes downcast as he picked at some loose threads on the blanket. 

“I wasn’t leaving.”

“I know.” 

“I won’t leave. Not like that.”

He waited because it was clear that Stiles was working up to something. In a way it was a relief, they hadn’t had more than superficial conversations since that first day after Stiles’ panic attack and it felt like they were in a holding pattern. It had been good in a way, catching up on sleep, and cooking meals, Stiles spending time each morning doing some of his rehab exercises for his balance. It had been two weeks of Derek waiting for the next thing to happen, or just for Stiles to ask to go home.

Stiles took a noisy breath in through his nose and opened his mouth. Derek braced himself internally, careful to let none of it show on his face.

“Why don’t you ever scent me?” 

The air whooshed from Derek’s lungs. “What?” A little voice in the back of his mind that sounded more than a little like a snarky Stiles commended him for making it a question.

“I do it to you,” Stiles said, still not looking at him, “Even my dad did. To you I mean. Malia couldn’t walk into a room without scenting me. Or you after you pack-bit her. Do you not like it?” By now Derek was staring at him, this was not at all what he expected, and he couldn’t formulate a response that included words. 

“And hugs. You never, you let me kind of hug you but...” he went from picking threads on the blanket to picking a hangnail on his thumb. It started bleeding and he put his thumb in his mouth and started chewing at the rough spot, then dropped his hand to his knee and closed his fingers around his thumb in a fist, hiding the wound. “I miss my dad,” he said in barely a whisper.

Derek sighed because there it was, what he’d expected. “We can go back.” 

Stiles jerked, looking at Derek, “No! No, that’s not what I’m saying. We decided, Derek, didn’t we? We decided to leave?” Derek nodded, making eye contact finally. 

“My dad, he hugged me all the time,” Stiles said. “It made things better, made the noise in my head quieter. Sometimes.”

He couldn’t think what to say to that, he was still a little bit stuck on thinking that Stiles was asking to be taken back home, back to his dad and his friends. He’d noticed that Stiles scented him, but had always tried not to read too much into it. Stiles touched everything, it was part of his ADHD he thought, it didn’t mean anything did it? 

Stiles reached out then and brushed a hand down Derek’s forearm and said, “Nobody ever touches you, Derek. And you barely touch anybody, except Daniel - your hug - and probably Cora I guess. And then you started letting my dad hug you. But then we left, and now we - My therapist thinks… well, _I think_ maybe we’re both a little bit touch starved.” 

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed at him, “You want me,” he spoke slowly because he still wasn’t sure what was being asked here, “You want me to _scent you_?” 

“Um, yeah, but only if you want to.” Stiles turned on the couch to face him, his expression anxious, but open. 

“But you’re not a werewolf.” 

“Well, you’re not a human.” 

Derek took a moment to sort through what he was feeling, what he could smell coming from Stiles who was still awash in the anxiety of earlier, but now overlaid with a sense of calm. He raised his hand to touch, to scent, and could feel an internal tremor running through him which he hoped Stiles wouldn’t notice as he wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. Stiles twisted and leaned into him, pressing his forehead into Derek’s chest below his collarbone. 

“Is this okay?” Stiles whispered.

“Yeah,” Derek answered, the word barely a breath in Stiles’ hair. “Are you in pain?”

He took a few seconds to answer. “A little, uh, well, a lot, I have a headache, but not from falling,” the words were muffled into Derek’s shirt. Derek pulled his pain and Stiles made a small sound of relief, and shuffled around a bit to nudge up against his side. 

They sat that way for awhile, Stiles felt restful, but Derek kept turning things over in his mind. “Stiles?” 

“Hmm?” he replied, sounding dozy. 

“Why were you up so early?” Derek asked.

Stiles yawned and sat up, muffling the end of the yawn in his sleeve. “Had a bad dream.” Derek tensed. “Just a regular one,” he reassured him, “like, I couldn’t find my locker at school, kept searching for my classroom. I just woke up and knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep.” 

“And you really didn’t lose your balance?” 

He sighed and Derek had a flash of worry that he was going to attempt to lie. “Yes and no,” he said with a steady heart beat, “I really did just trip the regular way. Kind of ping ponged off the cupboards on the way down. I probably wouldn’t have fallen all the way, before. I skinned my knee, see?” He pulled up the leg of his pajama pants to show off a large bandage. 

“Okay.” 

He settled back against his side again and Derek carefully brought his arm down around Stiles’ shoulders, feather light like he was trying not to spook him, except maybe the one he was trying not to spook was himself. It felt like Stiles was trying to be just as careful. 

“What do you get out of this?” The words were tentative, and Derek wasn’t sure what Stiles was asking. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, um, what is it you want?” 

“I want you not to say those things about me.” 

“What things?” Stiles asked.

“Penance. I’m not here as penance.”

Stiles pulled away so he could look up at Derek. His hand slid back away from where it was wrapped around him, only his fingertips remained in contact with Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Then why? Why are you here? I still don't understand. I have nothing to offer you, and you're doing all this,” he waved his hand around the room, “for me. I don't get it.”

It was times like this that he most acutely missed being part of a large pack, where there were so many ways to communicate without having to find words. If Stiles were a wolf, he would just know, he would be able to use chemosignals and subvocalizations, or a host of other ways to say things without talking. Except he’s not, and while he did better than most humans at reading Derek even when he wasn’t speaking, it was becoming clear that there was some misunderstanding. He recalled Lydia's repeated admonition to talk to him, and he's going to try as best he can, even if it feels like walking into a hunter’s gunsight. 

He reached for Stiles and pulled him back down into his side, and thankfully he seemed to either want the contact, or to understand that it was easier to talk without the eye contact.

“That town, that life. It took so much from me,” Derek said, “it almost took you. It's not supposed to be like that. I couldn’t stay. I had to leave. I can’t be there anymore, but I didn’t want to go alone.” 

The words sat between them, but Derek knew that Stiles was still holding onto his doubts and insecurities, and while he knew a few bits of conversation couldn’t erase them, he was frustrated that all the things he was saying were so inadequate when he tried to put them into words. 

Stiles said, “You could have gone to Cora.” 

And again, he was being so obtuse, so blind to what Derek had been saying all the way back to that afternoon in Noah’s living room when he asked if they could leave Beacon Hills together. 

His aggravation came out in a low growl. “She’s not-” he cut his words short, then took a deep breath in and blew it all out through his nose, and Stiles sat up again. This time Derek let him go, then said plainly, “You’re my anchor, Stiles.”

Stiles startled, his mouth falling open, for once completely speechless. He thought maybe he’d screwed the whole thing up, and Stiles really would want to go home now. He also thought there might be a way to show him what he wanted, and he wished he’d gone with that option first. He jumped up and started for the door, picking up his keys as he went, and Stiles struggled to pull himself to his feet, calling out after Derek, “No, wait! Don’t run away again, please!”

“I’m not! Just wait there,” he shouted back over his shoulder. He leapt down the last few steps to the driveway and opened the trunk of the car and grabbed a large box, then went running back into where Stiles was standing next to the couch. 

“Here,” he thrust the box toward him, and Stiles took it and sat back down, a bewildered look on his face, mouth pulled down into a frown. 

“I got you something,” he said. “I was saving it for, well, some of the places I want to go with you have walking trails.”

Stiles only continued to look between Derek and the sealed box.

“Open it,” Derek said, and too impatient to wait, leaned forward and flicked out a claw to slice through the tape on the top of the box. Stiles opened the flaps and peered in, then reached in and removed the contents letting the cardboard fall to the floor. It was a set of carbon fiber trekking poles, collapsible and very high end. Derek clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from touching the poles to show him the features. 

Stiles looked them over with a blank look on his face, which might have worried Derek, except he could hear Stiles heart rate accelerating and smell the sweetness coming into his scent that told him that just maybe he understood the words Derek couldn’t give him.

When Stiles still didn’t say anything, Derek stood once more and said, “Wait here, there’s one more thing.” He hurried down the hallway to the bedroom, and came back out with a walking staff, which he held out to Stiles. 

“I know you hate the cane. And, well, you don’t have your bat,” Derek felt like he was babbling now. For him this was babbling. “I thought you could have some choices. And I had that one carved with runes. It’s hawthorn.” Stiles set the trekking poles aside and turned the staff around in his hands, looking at the carvings on it. “It could be defensive if you ever needed it. If I wasn’t there I mean. I, um… well…” He ran out of words abruptly, then stood there with his hands dangling helplessly to his sides, waiting for Stiles to have a reaction. Any reaction.

“I’m… your anchor?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“And, you want me with you because I’m your anchor.” 

Derek shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Yes. And I don’t want to be alone, and I want peace. And I want you to wander with me.” 

“And these gifts? They’re so I can do more things? With you?” 

“Yes,” he said, pleased that it seemed like Stiles was understanding.

“And just to be clear,” Stiles went on, something bitter creeping into his scent, “this isn’t guilt. You’re not punishing yourself by sticking around to take care of the cripple.” 

Derek took a sharp breath in. “No,” he said, caught off guard by the harsh tone. “That’s not how it is. I don’t care that you have limitations, and I don’t want you to talk about yourself like that.” 

Stiles sagged back into the couch, the staff held tightly in his hand, and he ran his fingers along the runes without looking at them. 

“It’s like you said before,” Derek sat down next to him, closer than he would have before this morning, “I have my things, and you have yours.” 

“Yeah?” he looked at him then, hope in his eyes. 

He nodded. 

Stiles ran his fingers over the runes again, and tilted the staff one way and the other. “I really love this,” he said. “I like the poles too, but this is… how?”

Derek ducked his head, he could feel his cheeks and his ears turning red, “I asked Margot to do it for me, right before we left town. She sent it down with a courier a few days ago.” He pointed to some of the marks, “See here, and here? It’s attuned to you, makes you less noticeable to anybody who means you harm, and if you use it in self-defense, it amplifies any strikes. It also has something in it to help you be more sure-footed. And hawthorn generally is good for anxiety.” 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Derek. This is, wow, this is amazing. Just, thank you.”

“Well the trekking poles are only regular ones. So.” 

Stiles barked out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough. “I mean, what? Just regular old fancy hiking poles? I can live with that.” He returned to examining the carvings on the pole, then said softly, “I really am sorry for how I acted this morning, I’m working on it.” 

“I believe you.” 

“Okay.” Stiles thumped the end of the staff down on the floor, and used it to leverage himself up off the couch. “What do you say we take my new stick and go do something touristy? I can pretend to be Gandalf.” 

Derek stood up next to him. Stiles held his free arm out to him, “Hug? Can we do that now?” 

He gave Stiles a tiny smile and stepped forward awkwardly. Stiles wrapped an arm around his middle to drag him a little closer, and Derek bent his head into the crook of his neck to scent him and rub his cheek on Stiles’ jaw, then stepped back going stiff once more. Stiles patted him a few times on the arm and said, “Okay buddy, we’ll work on that.” His tone was teasing, but more important was below that was a sense of relief so strong he could taste it in the air. 

* * *

As these things sometimes went, the tension from that morning kicked off a few days of high anxiety, leading into a series of sleepless nights and waking exhaustion for both of them, and while the new permission to scent and hug as they wished alleviated some of the distress for both of them, the stress of past events intruded upon their efforts to find their equilibrium. 

On one of those nights, Derek lurched upright out of a nightmare, stomach churning. He woke with the taste of ash on his tongue and the smell of woodsmoke in his nose, and barely made it into the bathroom to vomit as noiselessly as he could manage. Afterward, still in a cold sweat, he sat back on the cool tile leaning against the side of the tub, and listened to the noises of the house. He tuned into the slowed thump of Stiles’ heartbeat, and listened to him moving restlessly in his sleep. 

Knowing it was useless to try to get back to sleep himself, he rose and made the rounds of checking all the doors and windows, then made himself comfortable in the recliner closest to the hallway leading to the two bedrooms. 

Neither of them were really what anybody would call restful sleepers, but years of danger had trained Derek into keeping silent and still, even in the deepest of night disturbances. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, he heard Stiles come awake suddenly, then fall back in the bed with an irritated grunt. A few minutes later he got to his feet, and came shuffling out into the living room, dragging one hand along the wall for balance.

Derek clicked the table lamp next to him onto low so as not to startle him by sitting in complete darkness, and Stiles squinted at him through the lamp light and detoured to touch his bare shoulder and run a hand down his arm.

“Can’t sleep?” 

Derek grunted, and Stiles huffed back and went over to the sink and got a glass of water, which he drank while still watching Derek from across the open kitchen. 

“Want me to hang with you?” Stiles’ voice was still gravelly with sleep, and Derek shook his head. 

“Go back to sleep if you can,” he replied.

Stiles nodded and started back down the hall, then paused and said, “Gonna go for a run again this morning?”

He hummed his ‘yes,’ and Stiles said, “Wear shoes this time, buddy, ‘kay?” 

Derek snorted, some of his tension leaving him at the smartass comment. 

At first light, he got dressed in basketball shorts and a tank, lacing up a pair of running shoes with a small smile, and let himself out of the cottage, locking up carefully. He ran a few miles, making the same detour down to the same little rocky cove beach, where he sat quietly trying to clear his mind of the earlier distress. It had been months since he dreamed of the fire, and those dreams always left his instincts unsettled and his mind bogged down with fears of insecurity and distrust. 

He was long past the time when he would wake nightly, panting in terror with the grit of his nightmares in his mouth, his sister pushing, pushing, _pushing_ him to ‘talk it through, Derek,’ as if his facility with languages would somehow equate with being able to explain the grotesque weight of guilt and sorrow which hung heavy over him in those months and years. Laura had always moved between worlds more comfortably than he had, creating a connection for him when at times he didn’t speak for days on end. 

After he lost her too, there was nobody who made him want to maintain that side of himself, not until an obnoxious teenager with a buzzcut and warm brown eyes that saw everything bulldozed his way into Derek’s carefully isolated life, talking to him, around him, at him, even when his only replies were growls, shoves and glares. 

Stiles didn’t push him to talk a lot, not like Laura did, and Stiles’ own traumas had knocked the edges off much of his mindless chattering, he was so much quieter now, at least that’s how it seemed to Derek. After they both returned to help in the hunt for Monroe and her followers, there hadn’t been a day that he wasn’t there, keeping Derek from retreating into self-imposed isolation, even if it was just a text. It made him want to try harder to balance the two sides of himself. When Stiles had been hurt, he could feel that part of him, the part that put the best human face forward, slipping through his fingers with every day that went by. 

These days, the nightmares still knocked him down at times and pulled the wolf nearer to the surface when he retreated into the relief of its less complex and more conceptual nature. But away from Beacon Hills they were a shadow of the way they’d been. It was easier out here. Not easy. Not yet. But better. 

* * *

When he went to bed the next night, he had been hopeful that the mellow day they’d spent would carry over into nighttime. Instead he was awakened by Stiles calling his name softly from just inside the doorway to his bedroom. 

“I’m awake,” he said, opening his eyes to nearly complete darkness of the middle of the night. Stiles took a couple of steps forward to sit on the edge of the bed, and patted around until he found Derek’s ankle, then rested his hand there. Derek could feel the fatigue that came along with having held himself rigid, caught in the dream, and made a conscious effort to relax all of his muscles. 

“You were whining,” Stiles said gently, “I figured whatever you were dreaming wasn’t good.”

“Sorry,” Derek answered, and brought his arm up over his face in embarrassment, even though he was reasonably sure Stiles couldn’t see him. 

“S’okay, wasn’t really sleeping anyways. I - I was just laying in there awake, and I think I felt you, like, through the bond, your distress or something. I came to check on you, that’s when I heard you whining.” 

He sat there awhile, with his hand on Derek’s leg, and he could feel his thumb moving back and forth, the steady rhythm soothing to his wolf. 

“Was it the fire?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You had one last night too, didn’t you?” Derek didn’t answer right away, and Stiles added, “It’s okay, I don’t usually want to talk about them either, but you can if you want to.” 

A bit more time went by, and Stiles stood up. Derek thought he was going to leave, but instead he climbed up on the bed and situated himself sitting up, leaning against the headboard. There was a bit of jostling as he grabbed pillows and shoved them behind him and wiggled around to get comfortable, then the hand was back on him, this time resting lightly on the top of his head, stroking lightly through his hair. 

“This okay?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded, knowing Stiles would feel it even if he didn’t speak. The strange thing was that he wanted to talk about it, perhaps because he knew this was one person who would understand.

“It was Boyd,” he said, and when it seemed like Stiles wasn’t going to say anything, he sighed and said, “last night was the fire. But mostly they’re about Boyd, what they made me do.” Stiles made a small noise that let him know he was listening, but he still didn’t say anything. He turned over on his side and pressed his face into the outside of Stiles’ pajama covered leg, inhaling deeply and grounding himself in the scent of his packmate and friend. 

“Of all the things… that’s the one that comes back when I dream.” 

Stiles wormed his way down until he was lying nearly flat, his hand catching one of Derek’s where he clutched at him, pulling at him until Derek resettled with his head on Stiles’ chest, their sighs mixing together as they found comfort in the closeness. 

“Sometimes it’s easier when I’m not trying to be human,” Derek murmured.

“Why do you then? Not shift, I mean,” Stiles replied, his voice almost as soft, and he felt a touch of surprise that Stiles knew he meant his wolf shift. 

“It’s not really safe in the middle of so many people.” 

“You can get fluffy if you want, I’ll keep watch.” 

“Mmm. Maybe later,” Derek said, his words coming slurred with his sleepiness. 

“Okay wolfman. You want me to stay here?” 

He rumbled a little in his chest, and felt Stiles shake a little with a chuckle, and between one breath and the next fell into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter owes a debt to churkey, whose story [A Growl-to-English Dictionary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753740/chapters/57444352) gave me things to chew on when thinking about how Derek would communicate when he was more distressed. 
> 
> Two things of note regarding Stiles’ TBI, (and again a reminder that this story has so much medical handwavium,) angry outbursts following a brain injury are pretty common, and one of the things that post-trauma therapy is meant to address. It’s not an excuse though. Unaddressed, this type of emotional dysregulation can spiral down into abusiveness, and it needs to be treated, not ignored.  
> https://www.brainline.org/article/anger-following-brain-injury
> 
> Point 2: Trekking poles can be a big help for people living with mild to moderate balance disabilities to expand the list of activities they are able to participate in without additional accommodations. There are lots of types, and as they’ve gotten more popular with casual day hikers, they’ve also gotten much easier to find.  
> https://survivingdisability.com/disability-walking-sticks/
> 
> Thanks as always, for reading along with me, and your comments and kudos, which keep me going in the midst of all of the wildfires. We are safe, but there's fire just over the hill, and the air is full of smoke. Be safe, everybody, wear your mask. <3


	11. Chapter 11

Derek woke slowly to the mid morning light coming through the window. The memory of being held and comforted came back to him and, sleep drunk, he stretched then rolled over to plant his face in the pillows beside him. They were cool, but Stiles’ scent was strong and he inhaled deeply, then flipped back and scrubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the arousal that warmed him. 

Stiles was moving around the other room, music playing at low volume, and the smells of breakfast cooking made his stomach growl. He forced himself out of bed and after a quick shower, threw on some basketball shorts, and went out to the kitchen. Stiles looked up and smiled, then flipped the electric kettle on to boil for tea. He smelled pleased with himself and still sleep warm, and he was drinking coffee and making tea and pancakes, the walking staff tilted up against the counter beside him. Derek blinked and lowered his eyes to the counter before Stiles could catch him staring. 

“Pancakes, dude! Don’t need a recipe when you have a mix,” Stiles said, and winked. One of the very first things he learned on this trip was Stiles couldn’t cook. He had maybe three things in his repertoire, and he could heat things up just fine, or make something from a box or a mix if the instructions were no more complicated than ‘add water and stir.’ Anything more involved than that and the results were unpredictable and rarely edible. Derek thought Noah should have warned him a little. After the fiasco with the chicken, Derek took over most of their meal prep, not that he minded.

Derek squeezed around behind him to the refrigerator. He got out the orange juice and drank from the carton before he replied, “Don’t call me dude.” 

Stiles growled at him and grabbed at the orange juice. “Get a glass, gross,” he sniped back, then drank directly from the carton himself, swiping an arm across his mouth with a laugh in Derek’s direction. He flipped the last couple of pancakes onto a plate and pushed it across the counter. Derek took a couple of pieces of fruit to go with his breakfast, while Stiles carefully placed half a dozen gummy worms over his pancakes before pouring syrup over the entire mess. It was horrifying.

He opened his mouth to tease him about his choices compared to his dad’s diet, but his phone rang. 

He picked up to hear Noah’s voice, “Put me on speaker phone, Son. My dumb kid has his ringer turned off I guess.” Stiles was sitting close enough to hear, and squawked indignantly. Derek grinned and put the man on speaker.

“What’s up daddio? You staying off the burgers?” 

Derek snorted and said, “He’s got gummy worms on his pancakes.” 

Stiles gasped. “Stop selling me out, dude!” Derek smirked.

“As a matter of fact,” Noah cut in, “Pete made shaka shaka for breakfast this morning. Not sure what it is, but I know it’s healthy.” 

From the background they could hear Peter correct him, “Shakshuka.” Stiles looked at Derek with wide eyes, and mouthed, “‘Pete?’” Derek shrugged. 

“That’s what I said,” Noah said. “Anyways, did you know he can cook? Made Indian food last night, from scratch. He made his own yogurt, who does that? Who makes their own yogurt?”

“Hush Noah, you know I enjoy cooking, especially now that things are quieter,” Peter said, “He’s eating his vegetables, Stiles.” 

The laugh that Derek could see Stiles struggling to contain burst out of him then. “Oh my god, Dad, is Peter your personal chef?” he finally got out around his giggles. 

“Kiddo, I never knew veggies could taste good. Your mom just boiled the hell out of everything and you never met a canned one you wouldn’t try to hide in a noodle.” 

Stiles squeaked out another protest and Derek laughed. 

“Is my nephew laughing?” Peter’s voice came through the speaker at a louder volume, and Derek had a moment of thinking how strange it must feel to his uncle to be invited, even expected to participate in family and pack moments, after being mostly held at a distance for so long. 

“Yep,” Stiles replied, “he does that every now and then.” He reached over and touched the back of Derek’s hand, then went back to his plate of breakfast candy.

Noah cleared his throat, “Alright kids, that’s not why I called, I have good news.”

“Lay it on me, pops.” 

“We sold the house,” Noah said.

“That’s great, Dad, you gonna get your own place now?” 

“No, he likes it here,” Peter said immediately. 

The sheriff chuckled and said, “Yeah, things are working out fine for now. I figured that can wait at least until the new Alpha settles in. Speaking of, one of the alpha’s kids bought it, cash deal, quick closing.”

“Really? That’s good, right? Means they’re serious about staying?” Stiles asked.

“Yep, and Peter is thrilled. He’s ingratiating himself to the new owners as we speak. I think he was sad to lose his backyard away from home. I’m not sure they’re buying what he’s selling, he’s a smarmy bastard, we might have to bribe them with a side of beef or something.” 

“Noooo, Dad, steaks are off limits. You hear that Peter, no steaks!” 

“You can’t see him, Stiles, but he did one of those drama queen Hale eye plus head rolls. Might have sprained something.” 

“Oh god, Derek,” Stiles said in a stage whisper, “are my dad and Peter _besties_ now? What the fuck?” 

Noah laughed, then his voice softened and he asked, “Are you feeling better, kiddo?” 

Derek started to get up from his seat, to give the two of them a sense of privacy, but Stiles stopped him with a hand to his arm, before answering his father.

“Yeah, it’s been a rough few days, nothing serious, just bad days, but I think we both slept really well last night. I feel good.” 

Derek felt his ears burning again with the sense memory of Stiles’ hand in his hair, the scent of him pressed up close. He let himself be distracted while the others chatted about Stiles’ recovery, the worksheets Lydia sent over, and other mundane things. They said their goodbyes and disconnected the call. 

“Well, that explains these texts I keep getting,” Stiles said, and held his phone out for Derek to see a series of messages from Noah. 

> _-Peter made me carbonara for dinner._
> 
> _-Peter made shrimp and veggie stir fry for dinner i ate the veggie it was good_
> 
> _-Peter made pizza. From scratch. It was veggie but I liked it._
> 
> _-Peter made caesar salad and i ate it_

Derek raised an eyebrow, and Stiles bounced a little on his chair, “See? It’s weird, right? Is Peter trying to seduce my dad? Because, just no. Derek. No. I draw the line at BFFs.” 

He held back a grin, letting the good natured teasing roll over him for a minute before he answered seriously, “Peter just loves to cook, did you never see his condo? The kitchen is restaurant grade. He’s thrilled your dad moved in just so he has somebody to eat the things he cooks. He’ll probably never let him move out.” 

“Huh, I guess I never thought about what Peter liked to do other than, you know, start stuff.” 

“Peter wasn’t always like that, but he hasn’t had a friend in a long time,” Derek said, a little reproach bleeding into his tone in defense. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I guess it’s kind of a bad habit to trash talk Peter. I’m glad neither of them are on their own. I mean that.” 

Derek nodded, and finished the last of his tea. 

“You going for a run this morning, sorry I should have asked before the pile of breakfast carbs,” Stiles said. 

“Maybe,” Derek said, “I…,” an out of place noise caught his attention, and he stilled, tilted his head towards the sound to hear better. Next to him, Stiles also froze, although the noises were almost certainly below his hearing threshold, so it was likely a reaction to Derek.

There was a raspy squeal that cut off and was followed by growls and yips, then some thumps. Stiles’ eyes widened and he whispered, “I heard _that_. Animal? Is it under the deck?” 

Derek relaxed a little, knowing it was likely some small wildlife and not a threat, but seconds later, he stiffened again, his hand held out to Stiles to get him to be silent. Derek heard somebody moving around down on the patio, not an animal, which was confirmed seconds later when he heard a voice saying quietly, “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Stay here,” Derek ordered.

“Like hell,” Stiles replied, and picked up his staff to follow Derek down the stairs into the rec room they’d hardly used except to go through to the patio and fire pit.

From the bottom of the stairs they could both see a small blonde woman pacing around the patio, back and forth between the edge of the deck just above her head and the steps up to the walkway. She had an infant on her hip in a wrap, and a boy in his early teens stood on the edge of the property, one more child in hand who looked to be about four or five. 

Stiles’ staff knocked against the wall and her head snapped up, staring right into the window at the two of them, and the boy pulled the younger child behind him in a protective stance. Nobody moved a muscle, except for the thumping and yipping they could still hear coming from underneath the upper terrace deck. Derek’s chest rumbled in a low growl and he said in an undertone to Stiles, “Shifter.”

Stiles answered back just as quietly, “Yeah, but with all those kids, she’s probably not a threat.” 

“Stay here,” Derek said again, even though he knew it was futile to try and keep Stiles out of anything threatening, and wasn’t surprised when he scoffed at the order. He moved over to the sliding door and opened it slowly, his hands held in front of him as non-threatening as he could be. He knew Stiles was at his back with the staff, and hoped it wouldn’t be seen as a provocation, but he was ready to defend them if necessary.

The woman raised her head, sniffing the air, and the infant on her side did the same, pulling an “Awwww,” out of Stiles. The woman lifted one side of her lips in half a smile and greeted Derek, “Wolf.” 

“Alpha,” he said, and her eyes flashed red briefly, and right away the thick stench of defensiveness in the air dissipated. She looked back to the space under the deck and sighed, and Derek walked out onto the patio to check it out. The tip of a furry tail dropped down from the edge, then pulled back up, and several little snarls drifted out to them. 

She sighed again heavily and turned to Derek, extending her hand, “Heather, Alpha of the Nillson pack formerly of Atascadero.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow at that. Last he knew, the alpha of the pack in Atascadero was a man named Martinez, he’d never heard of a ‘Nillson’ pack, but this was clearly not the time to put her on the spot over lineage. “Derek Hale, of the Hale pack of Beacon Hills, and this,” he stepped to the side, “is Stiles, also Hale pack.” Stiles leaned forward to shake her hand, and she narrowed her eyes at both of them, then took a long look at the staff that Stiles still held. Derek waited for her to speak, while Stiles craned his neck to try and get a look under the deck at the snarly creature. 

Heather gestured in that direction. “My nephew, Sammy. He’s a werecoyote and he got away from me in the driveway and caught his first rabbit.” 

Stiles tried to smother a laugh, and Derek grinned at her. “Precocious shifter? He’d have to be pretty small to squeeze under there.” More growls and yaps emanated from under the deck. 

Heather laughed and said, “Thank the gods he was already fully shifted before he got away from me, what would the neighbors think to see a pointy eared infant trying to catch a rabbit? And yes he’s a little early for a coyote, he’s just turned eight months and he’s been full shifting for about three weeks. I have no idea how I’m going to get him out of there, he seems pretty pleased with himself over that catch.” She pointed out the other two children, “That’s Carrie and Sam. Big Sammy, for, well, obvious reasons,” she gestured in the direction of the noisy child. “This is Charlie, she’s four and a half months old. Werewolf. She’s working on her human teeth, as you can see from the drool.”

Carrie and Big Sammy had moved closer to Stiles who was now laughing so hard at Sammy’s predator noises he had to sit down. Both children were looking at him with eyes as round as saucers, and Derek made a mental note that neither of the two youngsters said a word. “Wait, wait,” he said between his laughter, “wouldn’t an eight month old pup be nearly the size of an adult coyote?” 

Derek looked over at him and answered, “It doesn’t work that way for shifters, our shift doesn’t correspond to your calendar.” 

Stiles frowned, then his expression cleared and he said, “Oh yeah, Cora explained this to me, I just forgot for a minute.” 

“Hmmm,” Heather said, and turned to Derek, “so your boyfriend isn’t a shifter. Not fully mundane either though.” Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and Derek shook his head at him to stop him from responding, refusing to think of all the ways Stiles might object to that statement, then turned his attention back to the problem at hand. The five year old child popped her thumb in her mouth and smiled around it at Stiles, lifting her head to sniff the air, and the teenager pulled her hand away from her face and put an arm around her to pull her into his side protectively. 

While Heather and Derek tried to decide what to do about the pup, Stiles talked to the two children for a few minutes, before standing up and walking over to the deck. He started to poke a hand over the deck and Derek snatched it back, not wanting him to get bit by a riled up shifter baby. 

“Wait right here,” Stiles said. Derek rolled his eyes because where else was he going to go under the circumstances with a child under his deck currently enjoying the results of his first kill. He was back less than a minute later with the canister containing the mountain ash, a bag of candy, and bag of cheese poofs, and one of the trekking poles locked at full extension. 

The two older children had made themselves comfortable on one of the lounge chairs, and the infant was fussing a little, so Heather was bouncing and rocking her back and forth to calm her.

“Okay, here’s my plan,” Stiles said, and Derek’s heart did a little flip at the familiar words, catching the attention of the alpha. He was thankful she didn’t say anything, simply turned her gaze back on Stiles who was explaining that he was going to try using the ash to block off the majority of the area under the deck, then use the trekking pole to poke the baby toward one opening if necessary. 

“Der, if we can get him close enough to the terrace wall, you can grab his bunny, and we can drag him out like that.” Derek nodded, then said, because this was Stiles, “What’s Plan B?” 

Stiles grinned and held up the bags of candy and snacks. “We Hansel and Gretel his little furry ass, oops! Butt.” 

“Candy corn,” Derek said, scrunching his face up in distaste, “where did you even get that?” 

Beside him, Heather guffawed and said, “Oh that will definitely work. Sammy has the worst sweet tooth.” 

“Yeah, but I’m thinking we want to stick with the bunny plan because if he goes back to baby shaped, he might not be able to crawl out, and it would be better if we don’t have to take the deck apart. Plus a baby under a deck is a little harder to explain if we end up with an audience.” Stiles shoved a handful of candy corn in his mouth and chewed in Derek’s direction obnoxiously, then offered it to the two older children. They looked to Heather, and she nodded her permission. The smaller one plunged her hand into the bag and grabbed as much as she could hold, but the older boy was more cautious.

They all watched as Stiles climbed the steps and crouched down along the edge of the deck, taking a handful of mountain ash from the canister and holding it out before blowing gently. The ash arched up off his hand and flowed under the edge of the deck in a long stream, forming a barrier a few inches away from where the pup was playing with his kill. He set the canister down, and held both hands out, making a small swooshing motion. Heather said quietly, “It’s working, he’s scooting over, keep going.” 

Stiles repeated the motion several times until Derek was able to reach under and grab the rabbit by one of its legs and start moving it towards the opening under the deck where the pup had probably gone through in the first place. Sammy growled at Derek, but as Stiles had predicted, refused to let go of the rabbit, and was dragged along behind it until he was close enough. Heather reached in and grabbed him by the scruff, pulling him the rest of the way out, scolding him as she did so. The coyote pup let go of the carcass and squirmed and yipped and licked at her face with his small bloody muzzle, until she stopped scowling and laughed instead. 

Stiles cheered, and the two older children finally reacted, big smiles splitting their faces. 

“Gods,” she said, and collapsed down onto one of the deck chairs with both babies, “there are so many ways this could have gone horribly wrong.” She shuddered, and the two older children crowded her, rubbing their cheeks on her hair and temples. “Thank you for helping us, I feel like I owe you both an explanation.” 

“You don’t owe us anything,” Derek responded.

“Maybe not, but maybe we could talk anyways? We’ve been pretty isolated.” 

“Of course,” Stiles answered before Derek had a chance to say anything, not that he’d object. “Want to come in?” 

The alpha hesitated, looking over the four children before answering, “I’d rather take this one home and get him cleaned up and maybe see if we can get him to shift back. Maybe we could come back in a little while? All of us? There are more children. We haven’t seen any other werewolves in awhile.” She looked at Derek with big brown eyes, and for the first time he noted the hollows under them, and now that the drama of rescuing the little one had passed, he could smell the scent of old grief and anger clinging to her like a blanket, underlying the sheer determination he could see on her frame and in her expression. 

“Yes, can you all come back for dinner?” Derek said, and Stiles looked at him in surprise. “How many of you are there?” 

“Thirteen, well fourteen counting me,” Heather answered. “The oldest two are seventeen, Big Sammy here is born human. The youngest is Charlie, here. There's one more born human and a full human. The rest of us are werewolf. You don’t need to cook for us, I know it’s a lot.” 

Derek smiled gently, wondering how one woman who is obviously not that much older than he is, ends up as an alpha alone with a dozen shifter children. He knew it would be a painful story, they all were lately, and he caught Stiles gazing at him with sympathy in his eyes. 

“I’ll cook,” Derek said, waving off her objections. She nodded and stood, hefting the werebaby onto the opposite hip from the baby in the wrap, then heading down off the property and up the street. 

“Hey, don’t you want Sammy’s trophy?” Stiles shouted after her, but she was out of earshot for the human. Derek though, could hear her snort and reply, “Fuck you, Sparky!” 

* * *

“Stiles could you get the oven door?” Stiles rounded the counter and flipped the door down, so Derek could slide several large casserole dishes of macaroni and cheese in to bake. 

After the alpha had taken the children home, they’d dashed out to the grocery store to get child friendly food for a small army. Stiles’ contribution was to insist on multiple bags of chicken nuggets. 

“Kids like nuggets, Grumpwolf.”

“This from Mr. Don't-let-my-dad-have-steak-Peter!” Derek snarked.

“It’s not like they have to worry about ather- ather- _hardening arteries_ , Derek!” Stiles swung the staff around and clocked Derek on the shin. “Oops, sorry.”

Derek threw another bag of nuggets in the cart, then moved down the frozen aisle and added several party bags of frozen ice cream and yogurt pops.

“You’re such a softie,” Stiles teased. 

Derek remembered the picnics with allied packs, and the big gatherings on the last day of the werewolf camps that he, Laura, and Cora all got to attend each summer, how the highlight at the end of the meal was lining up for the sweet treats. It had been years since he thought of that, and he wondered if Cora had the same memories. He made a mental note to ask her next time they Skyped.

Now, back home and with the food in the oven, he handed over the pot he’d use to make the cheese sauce, hiding a smile over the pleased noises Stiles made as he spooned up the remaining sauce. 

He began cutting up a couple of watermelons, and cast a critical eye over the living area in the cottage. For just the two of them, there had been plenty of room, but in an hour there were going to be a lot of _children_ in a small space. 

Stiles was watching him work, “You’re looking forward to all the cubs, aren’t you?”

Derek pressed his lips together in a thin line to keep himself from grinning like a loon. 

“You can’t fool me, Big Guy, I see that twinkle in your eyes.”

He gave in to the grin for a moment, then frowned and looked up at Stiles, who straightened up and mirrored his serious expression. 

“I keep thinking about why one wolf has over a dozen cubs with her,” he said quietly.

“I know. I think we both know that something very bad happened, maybe we should call my dad, see if he can find anything,” Stiles replied, reaching for his phone.

Derek paused the fruit prep and touched his wrist to stop him. “We should ask the alpha first.” 

Stiles frowned at the screen, and shook his head slightly. 

“Let her take the lead on this, okay Stiles?”

“But-”

“We don’t know this pack, and I know you’ve gotten used to making the plans, but it’s not our place.”

“But we have so many resources, what’s wrong with using them?” Stiles had that stubborn look on his face that equally infuriated and endeared him to Derek, there was so much of the wolf about him, but it was disconcerting to be reminded that there were some things that he had no context for, and that Derek didn’t know how to explain.

“No, Stiles,” he said, “you’re not listening to me. There’s a reason revealing a werewolf without their permission is a taboo. It’s kept us safe for hundreds of years. What do you think it would be like for her to walk into our space and find out you’ve already exposed her and her entire pack to humans, other packs, and a hunter - an _Argent_?”

“But we know they’re trustworthy! My _dad,_ Derek, he can help them, you know this!” He was still holding onto his phone like he meant to dial regardless of any objections. 

“ _She_ doesn’t know they’re trustworthy!” Stiles opened his mouth to keep arguing, and Derek set the knife down hard on the counter with a snarl. 

“You’re not a wolf! You have no idea…” the words locked up in his throat, and he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Stiles had no idea what it was to feel like people were dead because you shared their secret, no way to understand that survival could depend on how well you can hide in plain sight, or how you could never give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, all trust had to be earned. He’d never know how it was to live your whole life knowing that somebody might burn it all down just because of what you are, that their traditions and pack structures weren't just arbitrary, they helped keep them safe.

He stripped quickly, pulling on shorts and lacing up his running shoes, before heading back through the main room. Stiles was still sitting at the kitchen counter, still frowning at his phone. Derek’s wolf wanted to go over and rip it from his hands, crush it, and run. Instead he took a deep breath and forced himself to make a plan. 

“I need to go out.” 

“Okay, you’ll be back before they get here?” Stiles replied, keeping his head down, eyes on the counter.

“Yes. Don’t.” With his instincts so close to the surface, it was the best he could do.

“I won’t,” Stiles said, looking up then and setting the phone face down. “Be safe, see you in a bit.” 

He spun to leave, growling, “Lock up,” and waited on the deck until he heard the click of the lock engaging, then he ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard week in the world, huh y’all? It kinda killed words for me for a few days, and then I got some angst in my fluff. (I swear I wanted to give you all a fun lighthearted chapter of fluffy fluff, but I am weak.)
> 
> In more personal distraction news, I applied through a rescue agency for a dog, and I haven’t heard anything yet, so I’m obsessed and refreshing her page to see if she’s still available. So OMG I’m crossing my fingers and lighting a candle and wishin’ and hopin’ and trying to manifest the hell out of adopting, lol. I mean, I’ll find the dog I’m meant to find, but I’m in love with her cute little face already. 
> 
> Anyways, these two idiots, am I right? Seriously, Stiles, do you not think Derek knows how to wolf? /facepalm/ 
> 
> As always, thanks for all the comment and kudo love. For real, it keeps me going.


	12. Chapter 12

His fast pace took him down the usual trail to the cove beach that he usually visited on his daily run. He didn’t linger though, knowing food was in the oven and a pack on the way to visit soon, he just looped down the trail, paused at the water’s edge and squatted down to drag his fingers through the cold water where it lapped the beach almost like a ritual, then ran at the same pace back to the cottage. 

When he let himself back in the house, there was still time on the clock for the food, and Stiles was just coming out of the other room with a bag in his hands. His phone was still face down on the counter where he’d placed it as Derek was leaving, and he let go of a little worry he’d clung to as he ran. 

“Here,” Stiles said, and pushed the bag into his hands, “before you get cleaned up, lock this stuff in the trunk of your car.” 

“What is it?” he asked.

“My gun, the wolfsbane kit, ammunition, the ash canister, you know the stuff that the little puppers shouldn’t be able to sniff out. There’s no safe here, weirdly, why is there no safe in a vacation rental? Huh.” He moved off into the kitchen to check on the food, and Derek took the bag out to the car, then went back inside to shower. 

When he was done and dressed, he came out to find Stiles spreading the chicken nuggets out on baking sheets, and the mac and cheese moved to the warming drawer. He could hear high pitched voices coming down the footpath from the main road, and went to the door, motioning at Stiles to join him. There were some small formalities he wanted to observe to put the alpha at ease, even if the rest of their evening would be quite casual. 

When all the children had gathered on the deck behind her, she knocked on the door, and Derek swung it open and stepped back, gesturing her in. The youngsters filed in quietly, followed by several teenage girls, then finally their alpha with baby Charlie, and Big Sammy with Little Sammy in his arms. Little Sammy was still in his coyote shift, wearing a soft dog harness, and he squirmed to be let down.

“Welcome Alpha Nillson,” Derek said, and lifted his chin slightly to show his neck in deference. Stiles watched with a keen look on his face, then turned to Heather and did the same. 

She turned bright red all the way up to her hairline and stood up very straight and thanked them for their hospitality, before moving into the room. Once she was inside and the door closed behind them, she made hands to the children to sit down. Several of them sat on the floor and a few climbed up on the couch and chairs, or into the laps of the older girls. Sammy was doing barrel rolls on the rug, trying to scrub the harness off. 

Heather dug around in the diaper bag she was carrying, and pulled out a small object wrapped in a tea towel, which she handed to Stiles. She turned to Derek and said, “A gift for your emissary.” 

Derek raised both eyebrows, and turned to Stiles, who gave him a startled look and unwrapped the towel to reveal a small leatherbound book. The alpha looked anxious and excited at the same time, her face falling when Stiles' scent turned bitter in a way that Derek had come to recognize as hurt mixed with shame. He paged through the little book, and although his face gave nothing of his feelings away, it was impossible to hide it from the wolves in the room. Even the older children seemed to be picking up on it.

“It’s- it’s a grimoire, I thought… I mean, um,” the young alpha stammered out. 

“You’ve made a lot of assumptions about us, alpha,” he replied calmly, taking the book from Stiles, and brushing a hand over the back of his neck. 

His eyes on his now empty hands, Stiles said quietly, “You should explain, Derek. I’m going to-” he waved at the back of the house, “just give me a minute.” 

Derek watched him go with concern, saw how he held onto the furniture and then the walls, a faint note of pain in his scent. The children were all unnaturally quiet, and other than the pup and the smallest ones who turned where they sat to watch him go, all unnaturally motionless. He quickly turned back to Heather when baby Charlie grizzled against her chest, reflecting her mother’s nervousness.

He took a seat on the end of the crowded couch, and motioned for her to sit also. He turned the book over in his hands a few times, noticing the texture of the debossed cover, opened it to the front pages, then leafed through it while he considered what she ought to know. He knew already that she hadn’t meant any harm, but her words had been inadvertently unkind, so Derek wanted to be sure to give her enough information so that the visit could get back on track.

“Stiles was injured this spring, and printed things are still difficult for him. And he’s not our emissary, nor is he my boyfriend. He is… important to me, to our pack. We appreciate the gift of a grimoire, and with your permission, I’d like to accept with thanks and send it on to the woman who is currently acting as our emissary.” He thought Lydia would better be able to judge its usefulness, and perhaps forward it to Peter. It was a generous gift, more meaningful than an alpha would ordinarily offer to another pack, and probably another indicator of what they had been through.

Heather pushed a hand to her forehead and breathed out a gust of a sigh. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I don’t know how to do any of this, I didn’t mean to offend either of you.”

“There’s no offense, Alpha. The harm from hunters doesn’t end with the kill.”

Derek glanced at the children, some of whom were now fidgeting and staring at Heather with saucer eyes, no doubt due to the sour scent of her anxiety. One of the little ones scooted closer and rubbed his little face on her leg until she dropped a hand to his hair, and he felt a well of compassion and kinship for her, recalling how it felt to be left in charge with no safety net.

“Your alpha was Tomás Martinez?” and when she nodded he continued, “He was one of the oldest alphas of one of the large California packs.” He left the rest unsaid, the part where he pointed out that it was never meant to be her was obvious, just like it had been with him. “Nobody expects you to be him, you’re doing fine.” The tension went out of her and the children, picking up on the change in the air, started behaving more like he expected, and less like cubs in hiding, which he supposed they were. 

Stiles came walking out of the back, leaning on his walking staff. The front of his hair was damp and his cheeks reddened like he had splashed his face with water. He was carrying Sammy under his other arm like a football, and the coyote pup was biting at his sleeve and licking at the hand that surrounded his chest. 

“Look who I found sneaking through the bedrooms,” Stiles said laughing. He set the pup on the floor, and Sammy went gamboling around the room jumping up and licking at the faces of the others. It was an effective tension breaker, and the adults and three older teenagers gravitated to the kitchen island, and Stiles put the sheets of chicken nuggets in the oven. 

Heather stepped forward and said, “Stiles, I’m sorry,” and he waved her apology off. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, it was an amazing gift, okay? I may not be able to use it, but it won’t be wasted. We’ve all had our losses, none of it was our fault, and I know you didn’t mean any harm. Start over?”

She smiled at him and nodded. 

Some of the smaller children in Heather’s pack gravitated to Derek, smushing their noses to his clothing and sniffing enthusiastically. Twin boys around four or five latched onto each of his legs and started whimpering, making it difficult to refrain from scenting them. 

“Go ahead,” the alpha said, “they’ve had an even harder time than the rest of the children.” 

Derek made a sound of inquiry, and right away set his hands down on the tops of their little dark heads, ruffling through their hair and stroking down their cheeks and across the tops of their thin little shoulders. It was a bittersweet reminder of his extended family, as well as some of the older packs they were connected to when he was young. Perhaps some of them were even distant relatives, there was so much history lost now.

Heather watched for a moment, then added, “They weren’t part of our pack, so they only had each other and their older sister,” she pointed out one little girl a few years older than the two boys, kneeling up on the couch watching Derek intently and glowering at him. Heather waved her over, “Come here Ramona, it’s okay.” 

The little girl walked slowly over to Derek, and wrapped her arms around the two boys, looking up at him defiantly, as if to let him know they were hers, not his. Her eyes flared golden as she frowned at him, and he was saddened but not shocked to see the faint ring of red around her irises. He lifted his hands away from both boys and flashed his blue in response, then tilted his chin up slightly showing his neck. Ramona nodded and tilted her own head in invitation, and he ran a hand down over her hair and the side of her neck.

He looked up to find himself surrounded by the other children, the adults and teenagers in the room watching him carefully, and Heather looked impressed. “She has been difficult to communicate with.” 

“My wolf knows what she feels, I think,” he replied.

“I understand, I know who you are, and what happened to your family,” Heather said quietly. “I grew up hearing about the Hale wolf with the full shift.”

“My mother,” Derek said. 

One of the children tugged on his pant leg, “Can you go wolf too?” His eyes softened in amusement and he nodded, drawing gasps of excitement from the smaller ones, and setting off a clamor of ‘can we see?’ from some of them. Derek glanced at Stiles who was looking at him with the same child-like hopefulness, reminding him that Stiles still hadn’t seen his full shift. 

“After dinner, if you’re good little wolves, I’ll show you.” The air filled with such a bright scent of anticipation, it seemed like even a human should be able to catch it. Heather looked nearly as excited as Stiles and the children. 

* * *

There was a round of introductions that included enough names he would have to concentrate to memorize them, then the food was dished out, and there was no space for any sort of formality. Derek made up bowls for some of the children, and the teenagers, Cece and Junie who were werewolf twins, and their friend Stella, helped the littler ones get situated at the table, the bigger youngsters sitting crisscross on the floor with their plates in their laps. 

Little Sammy was still in his fur coat and disinclined to shift back for a bottle or a bowl of macaroni. They thought for a minute they had him when Stiles waved a chicken nugget around and he sniffed at it with interest, but eventually he turned up his fuzzy little muzzle even at that. 

“I thought we might want this,” Derek said, and the alpha had laughed, a delightful and appealing full-bodied laugh, when Derek retrieved part of the rabbit carcass from the refrigerator, rinsed of blood and trimmed down to pup-size pieces. He handed it over to Little Sammy, and he carried his kill under the table and enjoyed it loudly, with all the little yips and growls they’d heard on his first round with his prey. 

It was lively with chaos and high pitched voices all talking at once, and Stiles looked a bit out of his element, but it washed over Derek in a wave of familiarity that he had forgotten. He smiled to himself as he remembered Cora and the cousins her age thundering up and down the stairs, and the babies chasing after them. He and Laura as the oldest, always tried to pretend they weren’t also involved in the chase and wrestle, but they were the worst at getting the cubs wound up, until the grownups shut down the games by filling their bellies until they all drowsed off in food comas.

After everyone had eaten, as if by consensus, all the children sat on the rug staring at Derek with unconcealed eagerness. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, feeling anxious. It had been months since he’d shifted, and it still didn’t come easily to him, unlike his mother or Laura who would both melt into their shift. He stood and left the room, the uptick in Stiles’ heart rate and the buzz of little voices following him as he went to his bedroom, removed his clothing and folded it neatly, then retreated inward, letting his wolf come to the surface. 

He breathed deeply and let the transformation take him, down to all fours as his bones twisted. Scents became rich and nuanced, and his ears flicked around to catch every small noise, the tup-tup-tup of many smaller heartbeats overlaying the familiar steady back beat of his anchor’s heart. He followed that sound out to the larger room and padded slowly up to the man’s chair. Stiles, his Stiles. He ran his muzzle along the skin of his bare arm, and under the palm of his hand until the hand rested lightly on his skull between his ears. He felt the fingers twitch then sliding down his back and closed his eyes in pleasure with a groan. 

“Oh,” his Stiles breathed out, touching his ears, digging his fingers deep into the ruff around his neck. 

The Sammy-pup wasted no time in clambering all over him, nipping at his paws and play growling, and he opened his eyes with a huff and looked around at the cubs and human children. Most of them were gaping at him in awe, and reluctantly he pulled away from his Stiles and stepped carefully forward into the middle of the cubs, lowering all the way down to the floor then rolling onto his side in invitation. He chuffed lightly at the cubs and many little hands reached out to touch his fur, the alpha speaking to them lowly in admonishment. 

He nosed at them gently, some of them petting him, a few of them burying their faces in his fur and breathing deeply. He relaxed into the floor, letting his head drop down and closing his eyes while the children pressed up around him. He cracked an eye open for a moment when even the teenagers came to sit next to him, carefully working their fingers through his thick coat, and his tail thumped on the ground once or twice. 

The scent of brine and honeyed sweetness reached him and he raised his head to look at his Stiles. There were tears standing in the man’s eyes, and a crumpled smile on his face, so Derek rose to his feet, and went to him. He stopped in between his knees and raised his head to lick at the tears, pulling a huff of amusement from the man, then tucked his muzzle over his shoulder. His Stiles’ arms came up around his neck, and the man buried his face in Derek’s heavy ruff, breathing in slowly and deeply. 

“Oh my god, Derek, you’re amazing, you’re beautiful,” Stiles murmured into his fur. “So amazing.” In his wolf form, everything was more instinctual, even the words came to him more as emotion, but he understood things, and knew when he shifted back he’d have the words to remember and treasure. It was too much in the best way, showing his most primal form and having it accepted with love and admiration, and he sat back on his haunches, and licked at the man’s face and neck once more as his hands fell away reluctantly, then turned back to the cubs. 

He turned back to the children and hopped forward, his front legs splaying out before him in a playful bow, whuffing softly when half a dozen cubs flashed golden eyes in giddy response. The alpha-cub moved forward and bent over until her forehead pressed up against his, and whispered to him, “My mama was a full-shift wolf too.” He felt her sorrow, and he held very still as she wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and rubbed her face in his fur. When she finally let go and stepped back, she flashed her red-and-gold eyes at him again, and he dropped his head briefly then pressed his nose to her chest, before turning and padding back out of the room. 

Little Sammy chased behind him trying to nip at his tail, and he could hear the Alpha and his Stiles speaking to the rest of the cubs over the sounds of their disappointment. He shifted back to his human form and quickly dressed, then turned to pick up the little coyote only to discover a dark eyed smiling naked baby. He hefted the little chunk up onto one hip and strode back out to the living room. 

“Look who I discovered,” he said, smiling down at the little boy who gave him a big drooly smile, two tiny little teeth showing in the front of his mouth. 

One of the girls, CeCe he thought, jumped up and grabbed a diaper to hand to Derek, and took a bottle of formula into the kitchen to prepare. Little Sammy smiled while he was diapered, then wrapped his baby arms around Derek’s neck and rubbed his little face on his beard once he was lifted back up. Derek looked over the top of his head at Stiles to catch him watching with a soft look in his eyes, before the view was cut off by children climbing up next to him on the couch and a chorus of little voices asking him questions all at once. CeCe came back with the bottle, which Derek took to hand to the little one, and he snuggled in with the bottle in his mouth and a small happy grunt. Some of the other children were dozing off in little cuddle piles, reading little chapter books, or playing quietly, and CeCe looked to Heather, getting a nod before she and the other two teens, plus Big Sammy, went out to sit on the deck. 

Heather smirked at him and said, “My nephew has bonded with you,” then she inhaled sharply when Ramona, the little alpha-to-be got up next to him and wordlessly tucked herself into his arm. He raised it and draped it over her shoulder and she plastered herself to his side. 

Derek looked at her seriously for a moment, then asked Heather, “How old is she?” 

“Her next birthday is in November. She’ll be eight.” 

“You said she’s not from your pack?” Stiles asked, and the alpha shook her head. Stiles added, “What happened to them?”

Heather’s face collapsed in grief for an instant, before she answered, “What happened to any of us? Hunters, murderers, speciesists, extremists. But I don’t know. She doesn’t talk.” 

Derek’s head snapped up, as Ramona turned her face further into his side. “Ever?” he asked Heather. 

“What she said to you a few minutes ago was the first thing I’ve ever heard her say.” 

Derek closed his eyes and felt like his heart was cracking in two for the little girl and her tiny pack. Stiles pushed himself up from his chair and moved over to sit next to Derek’s other side, pressing into him as if he knew where Derek’s thoughts had gone. 

“I do know that if it weren’t for her mother, none of us would be here.” 

“Alpha, you’re not obligated to tell us anything,” Derek reminded her, echoing what he had said earlier in the day.

“We’re here to listen if you want to talk, though,” Stiles elaborated, “although should the kids…” he trailed off.

Heather looked around the room at the kids, then down at baby Charlie sleeping in her arms. “They’ve lived it, no words could be worse than what we’ve been through,” she paused and sighed. “Besides, I’ve been terrified to reach out to anybody. What if I talk to the wrong person and they come after us here too?”

Stiles gasped, and his hands clenched in his lap. “They’re gone,” he said. “We finished them.” 

Heather’s eyes grew wide, and she nodded, tears standing in her eyes. Two big drops fell onto Charlie and she wiped them away and said softly, “Okay, okay.” She nuzzled into the top of her sleeping baby’s head for a moment, then looked up at them and said, “I want to tell you.” 

* * *

“We’d heard rumors of what was happening up North, but for years there were rumors, I paid more attention than many of my packmates because we were a large, secure pack. Our estate was in a gated community and we had our own gates to the property. Our pack was large enough to be central to several smaller packs in the surrounding area.” She tilted her head toward Ramona, who was watching her with huge eyes. 

“My family was one of those, we lived just over the hill in San Luis Obispo, Dad was a teacher at Cuesta. When I was sixteen, hunters got them, burned our house. ‘Gas leak,’ they called it. I lived because I snuck out to see my boyfriend. I got obsessed, kept a diary of fires in known packs. It’s really why I knew about you, Derek. I know about you, the Talbot pack, Meyers family down by Santa Barbara, Suarez family out in Maricopa, a pack up in Oregon...” She trailed off as if there were more she could name.

“All fires,” Stiles said. 

“Yes,” she said, “one of their favorite tools. My boyfriend was one of _them_.”  
  
“Jesus,” his voice barely a whisper of air. “You weren’t on my list.” Derek turned to him, brows raised in question.

“Senior year,” Stiles told him, “after I met Brett. Lydia and I started compiling a list, looking for arsons that might be hunter related. We were looking for patterns, how they were targeted. ‘Nillson’ wasn’t on it.” Derek shivered, and Stiles pressed into him, a long line of heat and comfort at his side.

“I’m sorry Alpha, please continue. I’ll try not to interrupt again,” Stiles said. She nodded, and closed her eyes again, then continued her story.

_Heather sat at one of the long picnic tables, coring strawberries for dessert. Junie and CeCe ran across the lawn and down the driveway, and she could hear their squeals from where she sat, uncomfortably pregnant and sweating. At least her ridiculously large baby belly got her out of kitchen duty, they were going all out for the girls’ seventeenth birthday party, and it was hotter than hell in there._

_Three girls came back through the yard, arm in arm and giggling with their heads together. The third girl, Stella, was a frequent visitor from a small pack a couple of hours south, petite and bubbly, contrasting with twins’ height and loudness. It was still an adventure for all of them to have their driving licenses so they could visit back and forth on weekends, and Heather smiled to hear them chatter what they were going to do on their upcoming school break. She watched them disappear around the side of the house, past where most of the small children were playing, then heard them go inside and the others shouting out greetings to Stella. She rubbed her head, irritated at the forgetfulness._

“It was the twins’ seventeenth, we were having a pack-only picnic dinner, they had a bowling party planned for the next day, a Saturday, with their school friends, you know, humans and such. Stella was their best friend and came in from Santa Maria to spend the night…”

_She heard her mate creeping across the lawn behind her and she smiled to herself, pretending not to hear until he encircled her in his arms, one hand resting on the sides of her enormous belly, the other setting a glass of lemonade on the table. It was one of those unseasonably warm early spring days, and the glass was already covered in condensation._

_Nick buried his face in the side of her neck, snuffling until she giggled. ‘How are you doing, little mama?’_

_She pouted, ‘Enormous, thirsty, bored, hot.’_

_‘Mmmm, hot. Yes you are, my little werewolf oven.’ He kissed her and she tilted her head back for him to scent her. ‘If you’re bored, we could go make a baby,’ he teased as he kissed his way down her neck._

_‘God, Nick, I’m as big as a barn and gross and sweaty,’ she laughed._

_‘Heather-feather, you know I always want you, every minute, of every day,’ he said, kissing her between each declaration. ‘I can make you feel so good you’ll forget you’re the size of a walrus.’ She swore at him, and slapped his groping hands, then smiled at him._

_‘You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.’_

_‘I do! You know you love it,’ he kissed her nose and she scrunched it up._

_‘I know I love you, but you’re a little late to the party, some gorgeous boy already knocked me up.’ He laughed then, full and rich and vibrant, she couldn’t get enough of him, her beautiful mate, how lucky that sad little orphan girl turned out to be._

“Sorry, I get lost in my head sometimes,” she said. “We hadn’t even cleared up from dinner when the Alpha arrived, Ramona’s mother…”

_There was a woman running up the driveway, a toddler on each hip and a little girl trailing behind. Her eyes were glowing bright red. Alpha Tomás leapt to his feet and went running down the drive to meet her as if he recognized her, his second - the twins’ mother - following on his heels. The adults in their pack immediately went on alert, Nick stood behind Heather, claws and fangs out. Other parents reached out to gather children. Heather’s brother pushed baby Sammy into her arms, and went to stand with their Alpha. Sammy’s mother had already dropped into her coyote shift right there at the table, ready to protect them all._

_The other alpha handed the children off, and bent to talk to the little girl who shook her head and clung to the woman. She stood and started talking to Alpha Tomás. They all could hear, having fallen silent as soon as they’d appeared._

_‘There were too many -’  
_ _‘Hunters. But more -’  
_ _‘The others are gone -’_  
 _‘We should be ready -’  
‘Maybe an hour -’_

_There was no time to think, barely time for last kisses, last ‘I love yous’ before they were carrying children down into the safe room, a bomb shelter built decades ago, restored and stocked, secreted under a potting shed at the edge of the estate. Three small children from another pack and every child under twelve from theirs. Plus Heather, too heavy with child to stand in a fight against what could be an army of hunters. Stella was ordered into hiding, and was frantically trying to reach her own family, but the signal underground was poor and there was no way to tell if text messages were getting through._

_Junie and CeCe were arguing with their mother, begging to be allowed to help defend the pack, until finally, they were shoved bodily towards the stairs and ordered to help with the young. ‘We need you both here, this is how you defend your pack, you preserve our children. I love you mijas. Be good,’ and the hatch closed. All around them children sniffled quietly._

“It was - we couldn’t hear anything, but we could feel. Several of the children fainted, nobody made a sound, we just listened to - well, to nothing. Ramona’s mother, she went first I think. She had a seizure when the power came to her.” 

At his side, Ramona tilted her head back to look at him with dry eyes, and Derek tightened his hold on her. He started rumbling in his chest, more of a vibration, he remembered his mother doing that when he was younger. Ramona sighed and turned to press her ear against his ribcage.

_They stayed in there for three days, but they knew - they all knew - it was over in less than a day, less than that first night. She’d felt her own bonds snapping, with her brother, then with her mate. She felt the moment Nick died and then barely a moment later, she felt the alpha. She knew what it meant when the alpha spark burned through her._

“On Monday evening, after dark, I sent Junie up the ladder to scout for us. She came back down covered in soot and smelling of smoke. We all knew- we all knew they were gone. Junie said that Stella’s minivan was still in the street. And the other alpha’s car too, on the road just outside the gates. Ramona came forward then and handed me the keys, she’d been holding them in her hand for three days.” 

_Her arms folded protectively over her belly, she gave directions to gather up things from the shelter, baby formula, water, clothing and diapers were the most critical. Everything they could carry. Heather carried what she could, the infant Sammy cradled to her in a wrap to leave her hands free. She had a backpack filled with chargers, a computer and tablets, and most importantly, cash. They worked quickly and efficiently, then Junie went back up, taking Stella with her to unlock the minivan. CeCe and Heather herded the children into as tight a group as they could manage, and Heather reached inside herself to use the alpha spark at the same time, ordering all of the little ones to silence, praying to the gods it would work._

_They loaded up in the dark, dividing their own pack’s children between the two vehicles, Stella behind the wheel of her parents’ minivan with CeCe at her side. Ramona and the two little boys in the SUV that Junie led them to, Heather in the passenger seat with Sammy in her arms._

“There were no carseats, I remember fixating on that. Two cars full of werewolves and all I could think about was the damn carseats.” She was quiet for several minutes. The older children had all crept back into the house during the telling, and were sitting on the floor around their alpha, pressed up against her legs and each other. Derek wondered if it was the first time in all this time, that they’d talked about those few days. He remembered how long it was before he and Laura talked about it. 

“You came here,” Derek prompted when it seemed like her thoughts had drifted too far away. 

Heather took a deep breath, lifted her hand to rest on each of the older children in sequence. Clearly anchoring herself, Derek could see. “Yes. The house is mine, it was never listed in the Martinez pack assets, Alpha Tomás always said it was solely mine to do with what I wished, my legacy. It was never a pack asset, I inherited it from my grandmother. She was human. I was just a beta before, nobody noteworthy. I knew we could hide here.” 

“What happened to Stella’s family?” Stiles was leaning forward, a sharp look on his face as he asked the question. 

“I don’t know. We were too scared to make inquiries. Stella says she knows they’re still alive, but we haven’t been able to make contact,” Heather replied. She slid a hand over Stella’s head, “Stella?” 

The girl looked to Stiles earnestly and said, “I can still feel them, I know they’re alive.” 

Derek could almost feel Stiles thinking, which was confirmed when he turned to him and said, “We could ask Dad and Peter to make some inquiries.”

“We have some unusual resources,” Derek said, looking at Heather. “We could find help for you, locate Stella’s pack, look into ways to help Ramona and her brothers.” He looked at the little girl still clinging to him, then asked quietly, “Am I right in thinking she hasn’t bonded to you?” 

Heather nodded sadly, “I don’t know what to do for her. I know we need help, but I’m too exhausted to make any decisions tonight, and I have a lot of questions.” 

“Tomorrow then,” Stiles said. “We can help you get all these munchkins home tonight, and deal with the rest later.”

As they began gathering toys and sleepy children, Heather stopped Derek with a hand on his arm, “Are you sure they’re gone? They can’t come after us?” 

He held her eyes, his own glowing blue with banked anger, “They’re gone,” he said, his voice was rough and feral, “I can’t tell you who lit the fire, but I can tell you we ripped out their throats. My cousin tore out one of their spines. And the Skinwalkers took their leader. We almost lost Stiles that night.” 

Her own eyes burned crimson in return as she answered, “I hope they suffered.” 

“Not enough,” he said, looking back at Stiles and the children, “Not nearly enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make a spreadsheet for all these characters. I think if you make a spreadsheet that means you have to write about them again? I'm pretty sure Ramona is my current favorite original character. 
> 
> This story keeps getting looooooooonger in the middle. I can't believe I'm 12 chapters in and they have yet to really hit the road. Hilarious that I thought this was going to be a "road-trip" story, but they're gonna have to leave that cute little cottage soon, see what's out there in the wider world.
> 
> No news on the adopt a doggo mission. The last pupper I applied for got adopted by somebody else, but I have another application in for a cute little scruff-face girl. Thanks for the well-wishes! and thanks so much for reading, and all the nice comments, it warms my little charcoal nugget of a heart.


	13. Chapter 13

Derek leaned against the door to Stiles’ room, watching the rise and fall of his breathing and letting the rhythm of his beating heart settle him. He hadn’t come back inside after escorting Heather and her pack home. Instead, he’d circled the cottage then sat outside on the deck, listening as Stiles made a brief call to his dad, asking for any leads on where Stella’s pack might have gone. By the time he’d come back inside and gone around locking up doors and checking windows, Stiles was in bed. 

He was drifting in memories of going into hiding with his sister, and how different things might have been if there had been anybody to help them, when he startled at the sound of Stiles’ voice.

“I know you’re there, lurkerwolf,” he said, rolling over to face the doorway. “I’m not really sleeping either, you okay?”

He didn’t want to lie, and he didn’t want to add to Stiles’ sleepless tendencies by worrying him, but he wasn’t really okay, every little sound vying for his attention, and his impulse to protect his pack was competing with his mental and emotional fatigue. He must have waited too long to answer, because Stiles was pulling back the covers and patting the bed. 

“I get it, c’mon big guy, cuddle. I won’t rat you out.” 

Derek stayed where he was for a few more seconds before walking over and climbing into the bed. He laid flat on his back and laced his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, and Stiles let the blanket fall down over his chest, then propped himself up on one elbow like he was waiting for Derek to say something. It was something he was still getting used to, how often Stiles could sense there were words caught in his throat and how patient he was becoming to give Derek a chance to speak. 

“Tonight might be...” he said, then stopped, clenching his teeth so hard they made a grinding sound. He didn’t want to say the words out loud, how talk of what happened to the alpha’s pack had brought many of his own wounds so close to the surface, wounds he so carefully pushed down and covered over with a veneer of strength. 

Rather than finish, he started to push himself upright to leave, but Stiles reached out and laid his palm on his chest, over his heart and said, “I can wake you up.” He collapsed back down onto the pillow, but Stiles didn’t move his hand, just inched over closer until his head was lightly touching the side of Derek’s arm. 

The house was too quiet after the evening being full of the sounds of children, sharing a meal. If not for the hand tethering him to the here and now, it would have been so easy to slip into old habits. As if he could read the tension Derek held in his body, Stiles asked, “Do you need to go for a run, or shift or something?” He exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and turned on his side to face Stiles, knowing paradoxically that having permission to escape made him feel less trapped. 

He opened his mouth to apologize for keeping him awake, and surprised himself when he said, “She reminded me of Erica.” 

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then replied, “Yeah. I thought the same, she didn’t just look like a tiny version of her, she made me think of her in other ways too, all fierce and plucky and funny.”

“I miss her,” Derek whispered. Stiles crept a little closer, pulling his pillow behind him, curling into his chest, one hand tucked up between them, breathing deeply of Derek’s scent like the cubs had done earlier. He dropped an arm around Stiles shoulder and pulled him in a little closer letting a peaceful intimacy settle around them. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Stiles mumbled into his tshirt. Derek hummed in question. 

“I feel it here,” he tapped Derek’s chest over his heart, “when you’re scared.” He tensed up again and started to lift his arm away, but Stiles held onto his tshirt until he relaxed again. “Why is it always like this for us?” he continued, “We can’t have one exhausting day, we have to have a whole bundle of them one after another.” 

“I’m not sure I know who I am without something to fight,” Derek confessed, wondering if it was the same for Stiles, always waiting for where the next blow was going to fall, the constant worry for the safety of the people he cared about. Stiles hummed his agreement. Derek felt his exhaustion pulling at him and he tightened his arms around the other man, resting his cheek against the top of his head.

As he drifted off to sleep, Stiles whispered, “I just don’t want to feel useless,” and dimly he registered that it was important, something they needed to talk about later, but the next moment he dropped into sleep.

* * *

_There were flames at the windows, and thick black smoke pouring out from around the doors, rising in a heavy cloud around him in the night air. He could feel the heat on his face, and see the way his skin reddened as he tried to find a way in through the door to reach where they were sleeping. The smell of melting plastic sickened him, and he pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose for what little protection he could get._

_He had to get into the inside, he moved around the house to the windows where he could hear the screams just beyond, and then he was back at the door pushing and pulling against it until his hands blistered, clawing at the frame to find a way in. The smell of burning flesh reached him, the cries of his family getting softer, thinning into coughs and gasps until he could hear one last cry that made his gorge rise, Stiles calling for him weakly through the smoke and flame -_

_“Derek! Can you hear me? Derek, you gotta wake up, come on,” it didn’t make sense, he was right here, trying -_

“Derek! Oh man, _breathe_ ! you’re breaking my heart, _WAKE UP!_ ” 

He came fully awake with a gasp, lurching up to sit on the edge of the bed, throat thick with the phantom smoke of his nightmares. He gulped in air, but the room continued to spin around him, his nausea forcing its way up, the way it always did when his mind took him into his own personal hellspace. 

Derek staggered to his feet, barely noticing Stiles following along behind him as he rushed down the hall for the bathroom. He stopped short before he reached it, going down on one knee and losing the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Shame washed over him as he descended the rest of the way to sit on the floor, then tilted sideways to lean against the wall panting. 

Stiles made a soft sound of commiseration, and ran a hand over Derek’s head, scratching lightly into his scalp for a few seconds and sliding down to grip the back of his neck, then he stepped around him into the bathroom. He came back almost immediately and threw a towel down over the mess, then crouched in front of Derek, a cold cloth in his hand, which he used to wipe gently over his forehead, down his cheeks and finally over his mouth and chin. 

“Okay?” he said, and Derek nodded. “Let’s get you off the floor then, big guy. Where to, bathroom or bed?” 

He shook his head and slurred, “I need to clean the floor.”

“Nope, I got that.” Stiles manhandled him to his feet then steered him back into his room, guiding him back down onto Stiles’ bed, talking to him in a low tone. He left him sitting there and turned the bedside lamp on low, then left the room for a moment and came back with a clean tshirt. 

“Arms up, you’re all clammy, you’ll feel better -” he kept on talking to him, not asking any questions, not demanding, just a constant low noise that helped him slide back into his own skin. He tugged the tshirt down then pulled a quilt off the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around him, prodding until Derek slid around to lean back against the headboard. Still talking in the same quiet patter of words, Stiles went back out into the hall and finished cleaning up. 

Derek closed his eyes and tilted his head back, teeth chattering a little with the cold sweat like always after dreaming of fire. He heard the sound of Stiles washing up, then coming back into his room, followed by the sounds of him changing clothes. Then the lamp clicked off and the bed dipped down next to him. He felt Stiles’ arms come up around him, tugging him closer and drawing him down so he could curl around him, whispering about little spoons and blanket burritos.

He was being held tight, grounding him and allowing him to come slowly back into himself. Stiles was still awake, his body curved around his back, holding on with both arms, still talking to him about nonsense, his voice a low hum that he felt more than he heard. 

“How did you know?” Derek interrupted the stream of words. 

Stiles was silent for a minute, then he pushed his nose against Derek’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. “Your breathing went funny. I woke up and wasn’t sure what woke me,” he paused, then very quietly added, “you were stiff and just, I don’t know, breathing weird like you couldn’t get air.” Stiles’ arms tightened around him for a heartbeat then relaxed again.

“I have them too,” he whispered, and Derek could feel the warm breath ghosting along the back of his neck. “Um, nightmares. Like, pretty much every night.” 

“I know,” Derek replied.

“You do?”

He nodded, “I hear you in here, your heart rate. Sometimes I feel it, and I hear the breathing exercises you do when you wake up. I’ve heard you counting.” 

“Whoa,” Stiles' scent turned slightly bitter with embarrassment, in spite of everything that just happened. “I guess there’s no point in hiding it, is there?” 

Stiles was quiet long enough that Derek thought he had gone back to sleep, until he spoke again.

“Big guy,” he said.

“Hmm.”

“No more hiding the night stuff, okay?” 

“Stiles,” he started to object.

“No dude,” Stiles said, “I mean it, you take care of me and I deal. You can deal too. M’gonna help you.” 

Derek felt his lips curve up into a small private smile that Stiles would never see in the dark of their room, and he answered, “Don’t call me dude.” 

* * *

Derek woke with his head on Stiles’ chest, and fingers threaded through his hair. He still felt wrung out and unrested, although he hadn’t been beset by more bad dreams after the first one. He usually stayed up the rest of the night when he dreamed of fire, knowing how often he fell back into the same dream. 

Stiles was awake, and his hand dropped down to grip the back of his neck, then moved to trace light circles over his back. “You okay?” he asked softly. 

Derek nodded and started to roll away, but Stiles tightened his arm around him, encouraging him to stay where he was. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Early, it’s barely sunrise.” 

“Have you been awake long?”

He hummed without answering, and Derek tilted his head back to squint at his face until he finally answered, “You had a rough sleep after, so I kinda, um, kept an eye on you.” He opened his mouth to say something, chastise him or thank him, he wasn’t sure, but his thoughts were derailed by a tapping at the front door. 

Stiles raised his head, “Are you expecting someone?” Derek shook his in answer, and rolled to get out of bed, moving cautiously out into the other room and to the door. He couldn’t see anything through the window, but tilting his head, he could hear three little heartbeats that he recognized. Stiles came out of the bedroom and watched him open the door. 

Ramona walked in wearing a backpack, and holding hands with both of her little brothers. She flashed her eyes at Derek and moved to the kitchen table, pushing each of the little boys up into a chair, then settling into the chair between them before looking to Derek expectantly. 

“Uh,” Stiles said, and Derek glanced over to see him with his eyes rounded, and a huge open-mouthed grin splitting his face as he stared at the three tiny runaways. “Don’t look so terrified, buddy,” he said. 

Derek jerked his head at the three cubs and his eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline, and he hoped that somehow Stiles would be able to interpret that as _‘I have no clue what to do here.’_ He shouldn’t be panicking, there were a dozen kids in the house just last night. He wasn’t panicking.

“Dude, you’re totally panicking. Chill out,” Stiles said with a small laugh that said he wasn’t entirely panic-free himself.

“Oh and you’re so calm right now,” Derek hissed. 

One of the little boys yawned and whined. He couldn’t remember either of their names at the moment, which didn’t help. The other little boy whined too, “m’ hungry,” and his sister shushed him then turned back to watch both men with a look on her little face that was too adult for a seven year old. Her scent hit him then, and he was immediately ashamed of his panic, because the girl smelled of such a combination of fear and anger and loneliness, it pulled him up short in reminder of what a little survivor she was. 

Stiles was already pulling open cupboards for bowls, and he motioned for Derek’s attention. “You should call Heather, let her know the cubs are here and stuff. I got this part.” 

He went to get his cellphone, noting how Ramona’s eyes followed his exit. As he dialed, he listened to Stiles in the kitchen, talking to the children.

“What’s your names, little dudes?”

“Oh you’re three? That’s awesome! I’m this many, that’s a lot of fingers!” 

“Can you tell me your names or should I just call you buddy one and buddy two?” 

While waiting for the call to ring through, Derek smiled at Stiles’ chatter although the smile fell from his face as he realised none of the three siblings were speaking, and he wondered if the little boys were as reluctant to speak as their sister, or just shy.

“Derek?” Heather shouted as soon as she picked up, and he winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. 

“Hello, alpha. Missing something this morning?” he said, trying to sound more calm than he felt. 

“Oh thank _fuck!_ You have them?” she sounded on the verge of tears and Derek hastened to reassure her. 

“They’re fine, we’re feeding them breakfast I think,” he peeked back out into the other room to see all three of the cubs eating cereal, half-filled cups of juice on the table in front of them, which looked like an accident waiting to happen, and Stiles hovering over them like he was going to personally supervise every bite. 

He tuned back into Heather’s words, “... send CeCe to get them as soon as she’s dressed?”

“They can stay here for now, I think we’ve got it handled, it was just unexpected.” 

One of the cubs knocked his glass over and froze, big tears welling up in his eyes. Stiles jumped up and grabbed a bunch of paper towels and threw them over the spill, and Derek rolled his eyes as he listened to him telling the boy about his own food mishaps. 

“Well then you’re a step ahead of me. I don’t know what to do with those three. Maybe…” she left off speaking and Derek waited. She took a deep breath and said very quietly, “I know I said to only ask after Stella’s pack, but _dammit…_ ” 

While he let Heather figure out what she needed to say, Derek watched Stiles flit around the three tongue-tied children, looking more than a little out of his element, but with empathy pouring out of him so strong Derek could feel it through their bond. 

“Whatever you need, Alpha,” Derek prompted. 

“Yeah,” she replied, “maybe you could see about getting some help for Ramona and the boys too. I’m kind of out of ideas.”

“Is she close to anyone in your pack?” 

“No.” Derek listened to her take a few unsteady breaths until she added, “Her mother was one of the first lost, I think she associates all of us with the bad things that happened. I don’t know what to do to change that. She’s kept them all very separate from us, we haven’t been able to break through much at all, not even with the twins.”

“I can have Stiles talk to his dad after breakfast.” 

“God, yes please! Thank you.” 

“We can keep them for the morning at least, maybe longer, I’ll call you in a few hours,” Derek said. They sorted a few details and disconnected, and he moved back into the kitchen and said to Stiles, “Got all that?” 

He nodded and said, “I’ll talk to dad about it after we finish here, if you’ve got this, I’m going to take a shower and wake up a bit first.” 

Derek had gotten their hands and faces cleaned up and herded the children away from the juice and cereal disaster the two little boys had made of the dining table, and they cuddled up on the couch, with Ramona tucked into his side like she had been the night before. She’d pushed him where she wanted, then retrieved several well-worn books from her backpack, clearly expecting him to read to them. The boys - he was already calling them Buddy-one and Buddy-two in his mind thanks to Stiles - crawled into his lap and snuggled into his chest insistently, Buddy-two wide-eyed with expectation, while Buddy-one stuck his thumb in his mouth and curled in with a sleepy sigh. 

The book selection was an odd assortment, but he read to them from an ancient children’s book about a little white dog with black spots. By the time Stiles came back out, both boys were giggling at the little dog’s antics, and Stiles looked them all over fondly, snapping some photos with his phone. He took the laptop over to the dining table while Derek continued reading, half-listening in as Stiles got set up for the call to his father. As soon as the chat connected, Ramona lost interest in the story time and after a few minutes, got down and went over to stand next to Stiles. 

Derek paused his reading to listen in as Noah greeted the little girl.

“Hello, pumpkin, Stiles was just telling me about how well you’re looking after your brothers.” 

“Are you Stiles’ papa?” she answered, her voice high and clear and confident. Both little boys jolted in Derek’s arms and right away started scrambling to turn around and see her. 

“I sure am,” Noah said. 

He hefted both twins in his arms and carried them into the kitchen to stand behind Stiles and Ramona, and Stiles glanced up at them with glossy eyes, then back to his dad. He carefully wrapped an arm around her thin little shoulders and she seemed to welcome the contact, moving closer into Stiles’ side without taking her eyes off of Noah on the screen.

“Ramona hasn’t had much to say to anybody lately,” Stiles said softly.

“Well of course not,” Noah replied, smiling kindly, “she’s had her hands full taking care of these two little fellas. Isn’t that right, Ramona?” She nodded at him, and he said to her, “Well now, Stiles was probably getting ready to tell me their names, but I think I should ask you since you’re the expert.” 

Stiles mouthed ‘thank you’ at his dad, while Ramona turned around to point at the two little boys. “That’s Caleb, and that’s Cody,” she said, then offered him a tiny little smile. 

* * *

The sheriff encouraged Ramona to keep talking with him, eventually gathering enough information that he and Peter could make a start at tracking down any remaining family. Derek could see how good Noah was at what he did, and recalling how much Peter admired competency it was easy to think they’d make a formidable team when it came to dealing with the supernatural disasters left in the wake of Monroe’s terrorism. He wondered how Argent fit into the picture, knowing there was no love lost between the man and his uncle, although the Sheriff seemed to maintain an amicable working relationship with the Hunter. 

They were due to vacate the cottage at the end of the week, just five days away, and neither of them had the heart to send the children back to Heather’s where they weren't making connection, if there was a chance that Peter could find a place for them to go.

Derek had gone over earlier to talk with the alpha and get her permission for the three kids to stay with him, and to share with her what the Sheriff was able to learn about them. 

“Cody,” she said like it was painful. “To be honest, everything I knew about Ramona and the twins came off the flyleaf of one of the books we found in her mother’s car. I thought Cody’s name was Coby, I don’t even know how old they are for sure.” Derek promised to keep her updated, and returned to the cottage with a little bag full of their clothing and a few more books and toys. 

Caleb and Cody were asleep in Derek's bed, and Ramona was tipped into Stiles' side and struggling to stay awake, playing Mario Kart on the neglected Switch. 

Ramona finally dropped off, and Derek lifted her carefully to carry her in and put her in his bed with her brothers. He covered her with a quilt before returning to sit next to Stiles. 

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he said.

"What is it all the therapists say? 'do the best you can with the tools you have?'"

Derek snorted.

"Yeah, can't say I disagree," Stiles said. He stood and held out a hand, "Come on, we sleep when they sleep, that's the first rule on the mommy boards, you're bunking with me."

“It’s not even eight.” 

“Yeah, and I’m about to crash, and you don’t look much better, so let’s go.” 

Stiles pulled him up and overbalanced, tilting backwards, and Derek steadied him. "When were you reading mommy boards?" He raised an eyebrow and Stiles’ cheeks turned rosy with embarrassment as he mumbled, "Cute, single mom barista, winter break during senior year. I was gonna ask her out and might have pulled a few all-nighters reading about babies." Stiles gave him a sheepish look, “Come on, Der, a nerd like me, obviously I went down a few wikiholes. Never managed to ask her out but learned a whole lot of not actually useless stuff about babies.” 

"I thought you were with Lydia during senior year," Derek said, ignoring the ‘babies’ comment and trying to remember Cora’s messages from that time. 

Stiles gave him a weird look and replied, "No nosy wolf, Lydia and I were together for, like, three months, most of which I was at Quantico or in the field looking for you."

“Do you ever wish things could have turned out different between you?” Derek asked before he could stop himself. He didn’t feel the jealousy any longer, but he was still curious about why they split up when they so obviously still loved each other. 

“Are you kidding?” Stiles replied, his voice was steady and casual, like he was sharing old news. “I mean she's my bestie but then there's that part where she didn’t think I needed to know about an entire genocidal militia uprising heading straight for my dad, so that kind of put a damper on the romance, you know.” There was a trace of bitterness in his scent, but it was gone so fast it was easy for Derek to think he might have imagined it. He had other questions, but Stiles seemed content to let it go as ancient history. 

* * *

His vibrating phone woke him late that evening, and he stifled a grin as Stiles slapped out at the noise in his sleep. 

“Noooo, too early,” he whined, then snuffled back into the pillows. Derek rolled out from under the blanket and took the phone out to the deck, hoping the kids would stay asleep. 

His jaw cracked with a huge yawn just as he picked up, and Noah laughed before greeting him.

“Seems kind of early for you to be sleeping,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day, Ramona and the twins are staying with us right now,” Derek replied.

“Do I even want to know how my kid talked you into that?” Noah teased.

“Well, it was my idea, she’s not doing well over there and we thought we could pitch in a bit with these three.” 

Noah was quiet for a moment then said in a much softer tone, “That’s very kind of you, son. If there’s anything I can do to help, you call me day or night.” 

“We’re doing fine for now, but thanks. Is there something you needed, should I get Stiles?” 

“Nah, I tried to call his phone but it went straight to voicemail. I just called to give you an update - Peter found most of Stella’s pack alive and safe, he texted a few minutes ago. That’s all I know, he said to tell you to call him tomorrow for details. He’s still on his way back from wherever he tracked them.” 

“That’s potentially good news, I’ll check in with him in the morning. Anything else?” Derek asked.

“No, unfortunately. I sent everything I was able to get from Ramona and her brothers to Peter via email, but he probably hasn’t looked into it yet. Neither of her parents show up in the system, but you know your uncle has other resources. I’d rather not involve Argent unless we end up at a dead end.”

“Oh?” Derek heard an undertone of something, anger or irritation in Noah’s voice, “Has Chris done something?” 

“Nothing for you to worry about. Adina - Alpha Pecchio, you know - and I have been comparing notes on a few little things that are bothering us, so we’re trying not to involve him in much of the pack concerns right now.” 

“Hmm, well let me know if you need extra eyes on anything -” he started to say.

Noah cut him off, “Nope, you boys are out of the soup, well, as out as you can be when you’re trying to help out a tiny almost-alpha. I’d say you have your hands full enough. Get some rest Derek, you’ll need it with two toddlers to chase after.”

“Yes sir-”

“Noah.” 

“Alright Noah, I’ll call Peter in the morning, and Stiles and I will talk to you later in the day.” 

Derek sat there for a bit after disconnecting the call, worrying about what Argent might be doing now. He knew the Hunter’s goals didn’t always align favorably with what was good for supernaturals, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was triggering the sheriff’s scrutiny. Noah was right though, with the kids there with them, he had more important things to look after than what was happening in the town they’d left behind.

He shook himself off mentally and went and crawled back in the bed. 

* * *

The last full day at the cottage, Derek left Stiles sleeping in bed, carefully untangling himself from the clutch of his limbs. The kids were stirring, and he wanted to help them get tidied up before Peter arrived mid-morning. He shepherded them through baths, the twins bathing together and Ramona showering on her own in the downstairs bath. 

By the time Stiles woke up and stumbled out in search of caffeine, he was on the deck carefully clipping tiny fingernails and toenails after having done Ramona’s hair. Stiles outright squealed when he saw her. 

“You gave her Princess Leia braids? I think you just made my whole year, Der! Look at her, she’s perfect!” Ramona gave them both a shy smile and touched her looped braids. Derek looked at her adoringly and said, “Cora wore loop braids for an entire year after she discovered Princess Leia. We all learned how to put them in, she was such a terror about them.” 

“Oooh, you Hales have been holding out on me, you’ve seen Star Wars?”

“I might have been raised by wolves, Stiles, but I’ve seen Star Wars,” he said, remembering the last year he had gone trick or treating with Cora, Ben Kenobi to her Leia. He wasn’t going to tell Stiles about it, or he’d never hear the end of it. Worse, Stiles would probably try to talk him into cosplaying somehow. 

Ramona giggled, one hand covering her mouth, and Stiles said, “I’m swooning, see? This is me swooning. At your service, Princess.” Ramona kept giggling, and Derek felt his own face-splitting smile at the change a few days had made in the little girl.

The little ones had been with them the last three nights, and Heather had tearfully told Stiles she was glad they were finding a better home for them but she still felt guilty that she hadn't been able to connect with them. The day before, they’d borrowed the SUV from Heather, and taken the three siblings out to nearby Point Lobos to walk the trail. The new trekking poles Stiles was using helped enough with his balance that their main worry was keeping the two little boys on the footpath. 

Caleb and Cody scampered around ‘pretending’ to be wolves, such was their excitement over the trail name, and the laughter spilling from both Stiles and the children made all of Derek’s chasing after them worth the hassle. 

Meeting with Heather, and all the calls back and forth with Peter and Noah, and with Alpha Pecchio, working out the details of where the children would foster was tiring on its own. Adding the activity level of three active but traumatized children had both men stumbling to bed each night as early as the children slept. 

* * *

Derek heard the sound of his FJ coming up the road and called out quietly to Stiles, who was napping in the bedroom, warning him Peter was here. He walked out barefoot and bleary-eyed, but that changed quickly when he approached the window.

“Where’s my kid, I can’t wait one more minute!” Derek heard Noah calling out to the house before he was fully out of the SUV. Stiles yanked the door open in his surprise and went flailing out onto the driveway, father and son wrapping their arms around each other in a long hug. 

Peter edged around the two Stilinski men, carrying a couple of duffles, and greeted Derek who was standing on the deck with the three children surrounding him, Cody and Caleb hugging his legs. 

“It’s not everyday your secret plans work out so well,” Derek joked with his uncle, who smirked at him and brushed past him into the house. Noah and Stiles finally pulled apart from their hug, although the older man kept his arm around his son’s back, and approached Derek, dragging him into a firm hug also, then squatted down and opened his arms to Ramona, relaxed and inviting but not reaching out.

“Hello Pumpkin,” he greeted her, “You remember me from talking over the computer?” She nodded, so he asked, “Would you like a hug, too?” Instead of answering, she moved stiffly toward Noah, who carefully gathered her up in his arms for a gentle hug, allowing her space to step away if that’s what she wanted. Instead, Derek was surprised to see her stretch her arms around the sheriff’s neck, and allow him to pick her up and carry her inside the cottage.

“See that guy over there?” Noah said to her, pointing at Peter, “The one who looks a little like he’s trying too hard to show off his muscles?” Peter’s lip pulled back in a pretend snarl, and Noah snorted. “That’s Derek’s uncle, would you like to meet him?” 

Ramona lifted her head and very deliberately scented the air, looking between Peter and Derek, then she pushed away from the sheriff until he set her down. She walked over to stand in front of Peter, looking up at him, and his expression softened as he raised a hand to touch her little looped braids and then rest his palm to the side of her head, greeting her with the kindest voice, “Hello, wolfling.” 

Derek was struck by the memory of him in their yard with a very young Cora, saying the same thing. Peter glanced at him and caught his eye, no doubt having similar memories, with this little girl so like Cora at the same age, both fearless and fearsome. Recalling all the lives and years lost to them all, the look on his uncle’s face was just as smitten as Derek felt. And life took some strange turns, because just like that Derek knew his uncle would not be looking for another pack to take the children. 

As if she could read his thoughts, Ramona raised her arms to Peter to be picked up, and he lifted her and settled her on his hip. She put both hands on his cheeks and very deliberately scent marked him, then flashed her eyes, displaying their golden hue, with the ring of ruby around the gold, then settled her head on his shoulder and said, “Mine.” 

Peter looked like he got smacked on the head with Stiles’ bat, even more so when Cody and Caleb crowded around him and their alpha-sister, and both Stilinskis leaned on one another with barely contained laughter.

“Looks like you just got your butt handed to you by the tiny alpha, Pete,” Noah teased.

“Not another word, Stilinski,” Peter snarked back, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the little girl, and Derek saw Noah watching Peter with the same kind of exasperated indulgence he had for Stiles. He knew that whatever happened next with his uncle and the orphaned werewolves, the sheriff would be there to guide them through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, are you here for the writer’s ramble?
> 
> No news on the adopt-a-doggo front. The pup I want the most is still processing applications, but never fear, I am persistent, and someday my pupperoo will arrive.
> 
> Sights to see: The trails at [Point Lobos](http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=571). This State Reserve is just down the road from the imaginary cottage where Stiles and Derek are staying. There are loads of trails, very scenic, and some of them are total easy-mode for dayhikers with families or some physical limitations. No dogs allowed though, so all good little werewolves need to keep their pointy ears under their hats. 
> 
> Writer stuff - o man. If you are writing stuff, get yourself a good writing buddy. There’s a point in every single chapter where I have analysis paralysis, otherwise known as ‘this is navel-gazing twaddle’ syndrome. Then I message [PDXTrent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pdxtrent), who reads my gibberish, and either tells me it’s not utter crap, or how to fix the utter crap. Then I finish the chapter. So, you know, get you one of them.
> 
> Comments are life, love, and fuel. Thanks for leaving me so many lovely ones and especially thanks to you people who have left me a note on every chapter, whoa. ILU!


	14. Chapter 14

“Kid, don’t look so worried,” Noah clapped Derek on the shoulder, startling him out of his focus. He and Ramona were both standing at the window to watch Peter and Stiles talking to each other at the end of the driveway. He was straining to hear what they were saying, and Ramona was probably just making sure Peter didn’t leave. She hadn’t let him out of her sight for longer than a trip to the bathroom since he and Noah arrived. 

Derek rolled his eyes before he could stop himself, and Noah snorted and said, “Well you got me there, smart money’s on those two being up to something, and ordinary people would be nervous, but trust me that this time they’re using their evil powers for good.” 

Almost as if he heard his dad, Stiles turned to give Derek a blinding smile that Derek responded to with his own small smile and a spreading flush to his cheeks. 

“See there?” Noah said, a knowing look on his face, “just let them think they’re getting away with it, it’ll keep them from getting up to something worse out of boredom.”

“It’s like you’re the Peter-whisperer,” Derek said.

“Son, I raised Stiles, you really think Peter’s much of a challenge?”

* * *

Heather stopped by late in the afternoon, baby Charlie in a wrap on her hip as usual, and Little Sammy in his coyote skin again. She was fumbling to hang onto him through the diaper and clothing he was still wearing, looking more like somebody’s dressed up puppy than the small were-coyote he really was. Derek opened the door just as he launched himself out of her grip and went running through the cottage, leaping on the furniture and tackling Cody and Caleb with little yips and growls. 

The alpha sighed and said, “We started out in human skin but as soon as we got here and he caught your scent, yeah. So much for that.”

Sammy bounced from person to person, rubbing his muzzle on everybody when he wasn’t showing teeth in a coyote grin. Derek went to the freezer and got the last piece of rabbit from the day before, and Sammy took it with a tiny growl, retreating under the kitchen table with his prize. He then led the twins into the bedroom and handed out snack size bags of goldfish crackers and put Frozen on the television to keep them occupied. When he came back to the living room, he quietly asked Ramona if she wanted to go watch the movie too, but she shook her head and took Peter’s hand.

While he took a seat next to Stiles, Noah was making grabby hands at baby Charlie, who raised her little nose and delicately sniffed the air, then gave him a big toothless drooly smile. Heather unwrapped her and handed her over to the man with a smile, which turned into a cringe when Charlie smeared her little drool mouth all over the front of Noah’s shirt. 

“I’m not sure if I should be worried or relieved that my baby has no stranger-danger,” she said. 

Stiles waved his arms around and said, “My pops has baby-magic, it’s like his superpower.” 

“She’s fine,” Noah replied, cupping the back of her head with its little brown curls and making faces at her. The adults plus Ramona all watched quietly for a moment, then the air seemed to change to something more serious, with the sheriff taking the lead. 

“So, we have a lot to talk about and not much time,” he said, “so first things first, where’s Stella.”

Heather made a face and replied, “You know teenagers. The twins and Stella are acting like it’s the end of the world, being separated. She’ll be ready to leave with you all tomorrow though.” 

Derek thought she sounded angry, and the expression on her face was a mix of frustration and confusion. Noah shifted the baby to his side and moved to sit down next to the alpha, wrapping an arm around her as he did so. As he nudged her into his side, she squeezed her eyes shut and burst into tears. 

Charlie made little squeaks of distress, and Sammy abandoned his tasty rabbit to come over to her. He put his little paws up on her knee and whined, while Noah held tight to her shoulders and let her cry it out. It was over as quickly as it started, and before Heather could do much more than look embarrassed, they heard Caleb and Cody, little voices rising in child warbles, “Do you wanna build a snooowmaaaaan?” Sammy’s fuzzy ears swiveled around to listen to the singing, and he dashed off to the other room.

Her tears turned to a rueful laugh, and she said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear them like that.” 

Peter and Derek exchanged a glance, then Peter cleared his throat, “Maybe we should talk about getting some support for you, Alpha.” 

Derek chimed in then, reassuring her, “I didn’t tell him about you and your pack, other than what we shared about Stella and Ramona.” 

“I was able to find out most of this myself, once we were able to identify these children,” Peter tilted his head towards Ramona, who was pressed up to his side possessively. “I did some digging on my own and have some information for you.” 

Heather’s eyes widened, and she sat up and away from Noah, nodding. “I- we’ve just been in a holding pattern, I don’t really have a plan, just you know…”

“Go to ground, hide and heal,” Derek said, and the alpha nodded again.

“Survive,” she said.

Peter outlined a plan to assist Heather and her pack to return to their estate and access their remaining resources, with Noah contributing commentary on the parts she could expect help with. He motioned Stiles to get a file folder from their bags, and handed it to the alpha, explaining that there were some profiles on adults, both were-creatures and others, who might be interested in joining their pack. 

She flipped through the dossier, frowning, and when she spoke again, her voice was flat with tension, “You spoke to an Argent.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to Derek, no doubt remembering what he’d said a few days ago about privacy. Noah was quick to respond, “We haven’t said a word about you to Chris Argent, or anyone beyond this room.” 

She pointed at the notes at the bottom of one page and said, “His name is on these pages, can you trust him? How can you trust a hunter, especially an Argent?” 

Peter leaned back in his chair with a smirk and crossed his arms; Ramona who was watching everybody carefully, crossed her arms and mimicked his expression. 

Stiles started to speak, but after a look passed between father and son, something akin to sorrow showed on his face, and he sat back and said nothing.

“There’s not a good answer to that question to set your mind at ease, I’m afraid,” Noah answered, “Our interests have aligned often enough that it was to our advantage to work with him, but I can’t honestly tell you he’s trustworthy. Derek?” The sheriff turned to him inviting his input.

Derek didn’t speak right away, his thoughts about Chris a tangle of recollections - times when he’d helped them, others when he’d looked the other way or even harmed them. That he now seemed to be allied with the packs in Beacon Hills, didn’t make the answers any less complicated. 

“I’ve worked with him, he helped us more often than not over the last few years, but I also think he has a lot to answer for.” Derek paused, met the alpha’s eyes and said, “He’s still a hunter, and his actions have endangered our loved ones more than once.” He glanced at Noah, who was reflecting the same considerations with a grim look on his face. “Nobody in this room would question it if you choose not to use his resources. We would still help you in whatever way we could.”

Heather picked up the file again and said, “Can I think about it? This is all kind of a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Peter replied, “we’ll stay in touch, and we won’t say anything to Chris unless you give your permission, Alpha. In the meantime, we can help you with the legalities of claiming your pack’s estate.”

“We can also arrange a mentor for you, if you think that would be helpful,” Derek said carefully. He knew from experience that she had to be overwhelmed with her new alpha status, and offered her what he should have had.

“Thank you, that would be good, I think,” she said. 

The conversation turned to more mundane matters, including their plans for leaving the next day. Stella came over to find out when they were leaving in the morning, and to pick up Little Sammy, who had shifted back to his human form and fallen asleep while watching the movie and cuddling with the twins. 

* * *

“You didn’t have much to say about Chris,” Derek said when he crawled into bed later that night, after the children went to bed and Peter and Noah left for the hotel. 

Stiles was propped up on the pillows with an icepack over his eyes. Derek wrapped a hand around his wrist to start pulling away his pain, and he went loose-limbed with relief. 

“You should have said something earlier before it got this bad.”

“Didn’t really register until Dad and Peter left, and you were busy kid-wrangling,” Stiles replied. “How’s Ramona?”

“Stoic,” Derek said, frowning, “She really latched on to Peter.” He was quiet for a moment, “I can feel her already.” 

Stiles lifted the icepack so he could look at Derek, “The pack bond? How?” 

“I’m not sure, I don’t know much about children who have inherited the alpha spark,” he said.

“She claimed him.”

“Hmm.”

Derek turned to his side and Stiles curled around him before responding to the earlier comment.

“I was going to - say something, I mean - about Chris being an asset,” he said quietly, “but then I looked over at my dad, and the way he was looking at me kind of knocked the wind out of me.” 

He laid there, breathing quietly, one arm draped around Derek’s waist, his hand opening and closing reflexively. Derek turned in his arms to face him, waiting for the confessions that seemed to come easier in the dark. He listened to the speed-up slow-down of Stiles’ heartbeat, the sound of surf crashing on the rocks not far away, the call of nightbirds drifting in through the window, and he waited.

“Do you remember the loft?” he finally said, and Derek knew he was asking about the night the Oni came for him, when Argent and the sheriff both had been there. And Derek felt it too, the horror when the hunter pointed a weapon at Stiles’ head, intent on stopping the nogitsune, no matter whose face it wore. He nodded, though Stiles couldn’t really see him in the dark. 

“I didn’t know how much you remembered from then,” Derek said, the memories of the sheriff’s panicked shouting still ringing in his ears after all this time.

Stiles swallowed, and when he answered, his voice was tight, “I remember every detail.”

“He couldn’t have shot me, you know,” Stiles added. “The nogitsune. It could have stopped the bullets. But my dad didn’t know that, and he watched Chris point a gun at my head. He wasn’t afraid of me, he was… there was pain, loss, but he didn’t taste of fear until Chris threatened to shoot me. I could see he was thinking about that night, and I guess I figured my opinion of Chris wasn’t that relevant.” 

Sleep was elusive for him that night, as it often was, except for once, rather than the prospect of nightmares and the endless replay of his traumas keeping him awake, it was the comfort of listening to three cubs sleeping soundly just across the hall, and the man he loved safe in his arms.

* * *

All of Heather’s pack turned up the next morning to see them off, with Noah fixing booster seats for the kids in the FJ, and Stella making dramatic teenage goodbyes with Junie and CeCe. The alpha pulled Noah aside for some last minute conversation that Derek avoided listening in on, and Peter tossed Stella’s bag in the back of the SUV. 

“That one’s hers,” Derek said, “it goes in the Camaro.” 

Peter’s face was a study in innocence, “Oh nephew, did I forget to say? We’re all going to Tahoe. Let’s call it a family vacation.” He lifted one of the boys up into his booster seat and started buckling him in.

“All of us,” he answered, glaring at Stiles as he came out of the house carrying his backpack and leaning on the walking staff.

Noah hugged Heather goodbye and came over to lift the other little boy into the FJ and secure his harness.

“Surprise?” Stiles said, and his grin said he was enjoying Derek’s reaction, especially when he walked over to the FJ and opened the front passenger door to put the backpack on the seat. “I’m riding with Peter and the kids for the first bit. Pops, you can go with Der.”

Noah rolled his eyes at Stiles and pointed a finger at him. “The only reason you’re getting away with steamrolling me is because I spent enough time with Peter yesterday.” 

“They’re conspiring,” Derek said.

“Of course they are,” Noah answered, “let them think they’re sneaky.” He winked at Peter, who had just finished helping Ramona up into the vehicle. She buckled herself into the middle seat in her own booster, and was in charge of a dizzying array of snacks and books. 

Derek considered he was probably getting the better end of the seating arrangements, Stella had already made herself comfortable in the tiny back seat of the sports car, her headphones a sign that she had no intention of being sociable. The three small children were wound up like springs, and Stiles himself was visibly bouncing. 

“We should be there by mid-afternoon,” Derek started to say, and the sheriff cut him off with a guffaw. 

“Oh kid,” he said, his voice laden with what sounded like a combination of pity and hilarity, “We’ve got three little ones with us, we’ll be lucky to be there by dinnertime. Plan to stop at every rest stop, and probably for McDonalds more than once. If we’re lucky, they’ll all fall asleep and we can make good time.” 

Right on cue, like he really wanted to emphasize the point, Cody piped up in his little voice, _“Jajoosh!_ gotta poop!”

Noah blinked at the boy for a few long seconds then squinted accusingly at Stiles.

“Crap. Stiles, did you teach him _Dziadziuś?_ It hasn’t even been a whole day!”

Stiles cackled, “Get used to it, grandpa!”

Caleb joined in, “Crap, Jajoosh!”

“I can see we’re gonna need a swear jar again, _Dziadziuś,_ before you corrupt the children.”

Noah unbuckled Cody and lifted him down to take him back inside to use the toilet, calling out at Stiles, “You only think you’re funny, kid.” But he wasn’t mad and Derek knew this - even if he couldn’t hear it in his voice, he smelled _pleased_. 

Peter opened his mouth to snark back and Noah pointed at him and said, “Don’t test my patience, Fang Boy.” 

Derek’s jaw dropped open in disbelief that _Stiles’ dad_ just called his uncle, _‘Fang Boy.’_ Stiles started howling with laughter, and above the noise, Caleb shouted at Peter, “Be nice to Jajoosh, Tato!” 

Peter’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to Stiles who was now in tears, “ _Tato?_ Stiles…” 

And Stiles, flapped a hand back at him and said between gasps of laughter, “I know, throat, teeth, whatever.” 

Derek shook his head and climbed into the Camaro. It served Peter right for all of his plotting and conniving. He loved it, the give and take of affectionate teasing and conversation around him, the children and the feeling of belonging - of _family._

They were finally going to get on the road; in a full month nothing had come up medically that they couldn’t handle, and their first destination was to deliver the teenaged Stella out to her small pack in North Tahoe. They’d settled somewhere north of the lake on secluded private land, Peter said he’d spoken with a lot of contacts and several packs to locate them. They were to come down to the Lake and meet up with all of them before they took her home. 

They’d been driving about twenty minutes when Noah tilted his head against the headrest and started shaking until he finally broke out in a huge belly laugh. In the rear view mirror he could see Stella trying to stay aloof behind her tablet and headphones, but it was impossible to resist the mirth that radiated off the man.

“‘Tato!’ that was one of the best things I’ve ever seen,” he said, “Peter being completely outmatched by tiny werewolves, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you look like the cat that got the cream. A lot can change in a month, hey son?”

“I- he- what?” Derek stumbled over any sort of answer at all, and he gripped the steering wheel so hard he could hear it creaking. In his rearview mirror, Stella watched him curiously, eyes darting over to take in the sheriff’s expression. Derek concentrated on keeping his eyes on the road.

“I know you’re bunking down with my son,” Noah said. Stella snorted and turned the volume up on her headphones. 

Derek hazarded a glance at the man then, he didn’t look angry or disappointed, he didn’t smell that way either, although it was hard to scent much of anything over the miasma of emotions the teenage girl had been putting off since they set out. If anything, the sheriff looked satisfied, which didn’t make a lot of sense to Derek. “It’s not like that, sir,” he said slowly.

Noah turned in his direction and replied, “Do you think I care what it’s like or not like? All I care about is that he’s happy. And he looks healthier, you both do. Not whole yet, but better, and if you need or even want each other to help you get there, I’ll be the first one standing in line to support it, you hear me, son?”

As often happened when he spoke with Noah and was on the receiving end of his ‘truth bombs,’ the werewolf was at a loss for a response, especially when the man added, “I know families come in all types. It looks like I might be in the middle of experiencing that myself. ‘Dziadzias.’ Jesus. I thought I’d get a little notice before grandkids.”

At least he could ask about that, “Do you think Peter’s going to be okay with it?” 

“Hell, I don’t know. You saw how he reacted to Ramona, and I can tell you it’s the same look he has for Malia, like he’s totally thunderstruck. Nobody knows how to be a parent when they first start out, and he never had a chance to learn with Malia. He won’t have to do it alone though.”

Derek risked a glance at the man, and saw that his brow was furrowed up in thought. The quiet stretched between them for a little while, broken only by the sound of the wind flowing over the open sunroof, and the thin music coming from Stella’s headphones. 

Noah inhaled deeply and started talking again, “We’re pack, and I know that means different things to a werewolf than to a human, but even if they were exactly the same, do you think I’d begrudge either of you finding solace and happiness in any way that worked for you? Whether you’re sleeping with my boy or just sleeping. Do you think I call you ‘son’ just for the hell of it? You think I’m gonna feel any different about those kids for being honorary grandkids? What did that little girl say to Peter? You’re mine.” 

Derek had to pull to the side of the road for a minute, choked up with emotion. Noah reached out to grip him around the back of the neck, and pulled him over the console and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I know we’re pack, but did you really not know you’re family?” he asked, right before Stella’s phone made a digital shutter noise. They both sat back up and Derek squeezed his eyes shut because he knew they were glowing blue, Stilinskis being the number one cause of him grappling with his control, but in the best way. 

“Sneaky, kid,” Noah said to Stella. 

“Total hallmark moment, I’ll text it to you,” she said.

* * *

Down the road a few miles, after Derek’s heartbeat evened out enough that Stella stopped smirking to herself in the back seat, he asked Noah about the LaRose team and the new pack. What he really wanted to ask about was Chris Argent, it was a constant low-grade worry at the back of his mind since their conversation a few days before. 

The sheriff seemed reluctant to share much information on what the LaRose team was working on, saying it had mostly to do with the Nemeton, and taking a greater lead with the refugees as well as helping the new alpha settle in. 

“Scott’s not doing well,” he said after a pause.

“What does that mean? Isn’t he training with one of them?” Derek replied.

“As little as he can get away with, I haven’t seen much of him since you two left town, and he doesn’t seem interested in his pack. His bike is back of Deaton’s clinic most days. I think your old friend Daniel has taken Liam and Mason under his wing.” 

Derek smiled slightly and said, “Daniel would be good for Liam. He was good with me when Laura had no idea how to deal with my problems.” 

Noah nodded like he knew things, like Daniel had shared stories with him. “I hope so, it seems like he’s gotten better with his control, between Daniel and the trainings with Peter. He’ll need it if Scott can’t turn things around. The Oak-seer says Mason has potential as a druid too.”

He hoped the Hewitt boy would be safer than Stiles was, he never seemed quite as willing to place himself in the middle of danger and with proper training… Derek’s mind wandered a bit, sifting through memory-images of situations they’d faced. 

He came back to his previous thoughts after a bit, and asked, “Noah, can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course, Son.”

Derek could feel his smile reach all the way up until his eyes crinkled, knowing what the man was implying when he called him that. The smile dropped away though, with his question. 

“Why Peter and not Chris?”

“You mean why am I friends with Peter, who never met a law he didn’t want to walk right through just for the entertainment factor, and not Chris, who’s his own sort of law enforcement?” 

Derek glanced over at the sheriff, who had an amused look on his face, and nodded. 

“Well, leaving aside Peter for the moment, Chris seems like he’d be my kind of guy with his code and all, but as a Hunter, he functions like all the power is on his side. Where are the checks and balances? If I shoot somebody in the line of duty, I have to make an accounting for that, and have my actions reviewed, but it doesn’t seem like Hunters are beholden to anybody to offer justice or even justification. I figure that’s why Gerard and Kate were able to inflict so much damage, they answered to no one.”

He paused for a moment, and seemed to be thinking it through. Derek didn’t interrupt, and he could see in the rearview mirror that Stella had nudged one of the earpieces of her headphones aside so she could hear the sheriff too. 

“It’s not so much acting outside the law that I take issue with, but acting above it. Don’t get me wrong here, Derek,” he said, “I get how the supernatural requires that we operate outside the bounds of law sometimes, which I’ve struggled with, but I’m bothered by the notion that Hunters generally don’t investigate, they just locate. And I know that means that a lot of people who should be alive are just executed arbitrarily.” 

Noah turned his head to the window, tapping the backs of his knuckles lightly against the glass. Derek was familiar with that sort of tension, Stiles would get that way when he had a lot more to say about something, but was trying to be thoughtful about how he said it. The teenager had her headphones pulled all the way down, and was waiting too, her focus fixed on the sheriff as if she’d never heard a human talk this way about hunters. 

He finally started talking again, this time his words ran quicker, like he was determined to give voice to the things that troubled him.

“I can work with Chris, hell, we _are_ working with him. After the mess Monroe’s terrorists made of the whole region, his resources were useful. I’m not in the habit of turning down help where I can get it, but,” his voice turned hard, “I’ve never watched Peter hold a gun on my son and try to shoot him in the head.” 

In the backseat, Stella whispered, “What?” so quietly only Derek heard her. 

The sheriff kept talking. “Peter… with your uncle, there’s a consistency to his logic. It may look completely bonkers from the outside, but it’s there if you know how to look. Yeah, most of the time it’s blatant self-interest,” Derek snorted, and Noah quirked up one side of his mouth in response, “but also most of the time that self-interest coincides with what’s right for his pack. I can work with that sort of moral ambiguity, even respect it, even when I don't agree with his conclusions. 

“What happened with Scott down in Mexico, well, that’s probably a much longer discussion, but we can just leave it at I can see it from his perspective - an unworthy alpha who constantly brought danger to his pack.” Derek’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, and Noah patted him on the arm, which did nothing to explain his reasoning. The sheriff went on, “The one and only thing that’s never going to be put right is what happened with your sister, and I think even Peter might never know exactly what happened that night.” Noah squeezed his arm again, his typical way of offering sympathy, and Derek nodded again as if to say he accepted the sentiment. 

Noah sat back in his seat and stared out through the windshield. “I understand Peter’s choices, but I don’t understand Chris. He had to have known Gerard was tormenting kids in his basement, including my own son. He turned a blind eye to what his sister was doing, for years. And the way I understand it, he did nothing to try and stop Allison when she went after your pack.”

“You kids,” his voice cracked, “you’ve all been through so much and had to grow up so quick.” He turned briefly to look at Stella, who stared back at him with huge eyes. “Not all supernatural problems require a supernatural answer, and that old man kidnapping and torturing my son,” he took a deep shuddering breath, the scent of his rage so strong it burned in Derek’s sinuses in spite of the open sunroof, “he should have gone to prison for the rest of his miserable life, and Chris should have helped me put him there.” Noah shoved his fist against his mouth and turned to the side window. 

When he’d gotten control of his emotions he turned back and said in a much more steady voice, “Argent’s a personable guy, and he’s useful, I can work with him. But I don’t like him, I never will. And I genuinely like your uncle. He’s a disaster, but I count him as a friend just as much as I consider him pack. I guess that’s a little more of an answer than you expected. Feels good to get it off my chest.”

“Thank you,” Derek said softly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Noah replied. 

* * *

Before long they were pulling into the first McDonald’s of the drive, and Peter was lifting a child out of the rear seat, looking harried. Noah laughed at him but went to help with potty breaks and french fries, and Stiles climbed into the Camaro wearing a smug smile. Derek didn’t ask anything about what he and Peter were plotting, and after awhile he seemed disappointed that Derek let him have his secrets instead of prying. In the other vehicle, Noah took over driving. Shortly after, Peter texted to say the boys had fallen asleep, and they made good time up to Roseville before having another potty and snacks emergency. 

By that time, all the children, including Stella, were getting restless and cranky, so they stopped just up the road in Auburn, then at two rest stops thirty minutes apart just so the little ones could run off some of their pent-up energy. From the last rest stop, at Donner Pass, where they had to stop Stella from regaling Ramona with age-inappropriate cannibal stories, it was only a forty minute drive into Incline Village on the north side of Lake Tahoe. 

They pulled down the long driveway of a massive multi-story vacation home, right on the edge of the lake, tall pines surrounding the house and giving it a feeling of seclusion. Stella, who had been quiet to the point of making Derek seem like a chatterbox, started squealing and shoving at the seat back, and at least half a dozen people poured out of the house with a similar level of excitement. Derek got out of the car as quickly as he could and hit the seat release so Stella could flounder her way out, and she practically flew to her family, disappearing in the middle of hugs and kisses and scent marking. 

It was heart-warming, to know they’d done something good and useful, and he looked up to catch Stiles’ eyes. He was looking equally satisfied, plus something else that Derek didn’t take the time to decipher, instead moving around the back of the car to collect their bags. 

He was rummaging around in the trunk to find his own small duffle that was buried under all of Stiles’ things, when he caught a scent he knew as well as his own, and his head came up so fast to breathe it in that he conked the top of his head on the trunk lid. 

Rubbing his head, he stepped around the side of the Camaro, first seeing Stiles, then his uncle, with those matching smug grins they’d been wearing off and on since the previous morning. Then swinging around to face the entrance of the house, there beyond the group that was Stella’s pack, standing on the front steps with her arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself back, was Cora.

When she saw that he’d seen her, she threw her arms wide and shouted, “Der-Bear!” and her eyes flashed red. Derek’s heart skipped a beat, and his foot missed a step causing him to lose all of his usual grace and stumble his way up the drive until he reached his baby sister, his Cora. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck while she laughed with joy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pup news... I adopted a puppy! He'll be 5 months old when I get him, in three weeks. You can see a picture [here.](https://snowqueenlou.tumblr.com/post/632982500391649280/little-mr-still-needs-a-name-he-arrives-three)
> 
> What else, well, Derek and Stiles are finally on the road? Sort of? And what? Cora's an alpha? Whaaaaat? muahaha!
> 
> Your comments on the last chapter y'all. OMG. I feel so loved and appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

He knew people were shuffling around them, carrying bags into the house, and introducing themselves, but he couldn’t quite make himself let go of his sister. They edged awkwardly to the side and finally relaxed their grip on one another, although Derek kept her tucked under his arm, while they watched Peter go back and forth to the FJ a few times, three children trailing after him like ducklings. 

He sniffed at her hair, noticing a scent he knew but couldn’t place, “Cora, who’s-”

“That is so weird,” she cut in, still staring at Peter, who glanced over and smirked at her, but put a gentle hand to the back of one little boy’s head to hurry him along.

Derek sniffed her again, brow furrowed, and opened his mouth to ask once more, but before he could, Noah approached them both.

“Cora, it’s so good to see you here and looking healthier than the last time I saw you,” he said warmly, and held his arms out inviting a hug. She looked up at Derek briefly, then with a wide smile, stepped into his arms.

“Hello, Sheriff Stilinski,” she said, her voice almost shy. 

Noah pressed a cheek into the crown of her head and ran his palm up and down her spine as he laughed, “Geez, kid. Call me Noah, please. It’s bad enough I still can’t quite get your brother to stop calling me ‘Sir,’ so don’t you start, okay?” 

It was a very pack-like greeting, warm and tactile, which made Derek think maybe the man’s time with Peter had been as good for him as it had been for his uncle.

Peter herded the children past, and leaned forward to place a kiss on Cora’s temple, then continued on inside.

“So weird,” she repeated.

Noah laughed and said, “He’s mellowed, probably my influence.” 

She glanced back at Derek and he said, “They’re roommates now.” 

“Roomies? Or…?” Cora asked.

“Gross! Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Stiles!” Cora grabbed him around the neck as he approached and hugged him hard, and Derek heard her whisper in his ear, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Stiles whispered back, “I’m glad you’re okay too, mini-Hale.” 

Then, to Derek’s dismay, she pressed her nose to Stiles’ chest and inhaled deeply, then shot a sly look at her brother.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he plucked her from Stiles’ embrace before she could air any conclusions, and turned to haul her in the door, running into another man he hadn’t noticed standing just behind him. The man’s heart beat and scent had been obscured, and the look on his face was very self-satisfied. 

“Coco, aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely, _lovely_ family?” he winked at Stiles. 

“This is Nico, he’s a brujo, and a total pain in my ass. Stop masking your scent and stuff, you giant show-off.” Nico was taller than Derek, with long, wildly curly black hair, that had been streaked liberally with bright rainbow colors, and a dark olive complexion that came from heritage, not suntanning. He smirked at Cora and let go of whatever he was using to mask his scent and heartbeat. Derek could smell a rich aroma of herbs and loam mixed with the sharp scent of magic, and something reminiscent of his childhood that told him this man was probably his sister’s emissary.

“Is he your… boyfriend?” Stiles asked. 

“Ew, no. He’s supposed to be my emissary, but he’s really more of a meddlesome aunt,” Cora said, confirming his guess. She smiled and glared at the same time, which Stiles seemed to read as easily on her as he did with Derek. 

“Oh Coconut,” the man sighed like it was a much-practiced argument, “That’s ‘cuz I’m Brujo, not one of those dull-as-dust-druids. Meddling is the first rule in the rulebook.” 

He turned back to Stiles, “I’m the bee eff eff, dear, and you’re a snack.”

“No,” Cora said. She looked like she was about two seconds from hitting him on the forehead with a rolled up newspaper. “You leave him be, and no more of your ghosty witch-tricks, Nico, this is my family.”

Stiles snorted.

“You see how she treats me?” Nico said.

“You see how he disrespects his alpha?” said a familiar voice. Derek froze in surprise for a moment, knowing he should have recognized the scent immediately, and Isaac walked out onto the front steps. 

“Hello Derek,” Isaac greeted him with a relaxed smile. Everything about him was more at ease than Derek had ever seen, and he felt a flicker of pride at the changes that confirmed the potential he’d recognized in the human boy.

“Oh god, is _he_ your boyfriend?” Stiles said, pointing at Isaac accusingly when he stepped up and put an arm around Cora’s shoulders.

“Ew. No, what is wrong with you, Stiles?” Cora complained.

Noah said, “He has boyfriends on the brain.”

Derek could feel himself turning red and tried to hide behind gathering up the last of the bags to take inside. 

Nico followed him in, as he said, “Sadly, our alpha doesn’t let anybody sample the merchandise, what a pity.” 

“I have an idea,” Cora sniped, “why don’t you go get laid so you can stop being gross all over everybody.” Isaac turned away quickly, but not before they could all see the flush crawling up the back of his neck. 

Nico snickered before brushing past him into the main part of the house.

“Oh no,” Cora said, her voice laced with horror, “Oh, no way. _Please_ tell me you didn’t. God, he’s such a himbo, Isaac, why would you do that?” 

Nico’s snickers morphed into cackling, like a proper witch, and Derek turned to a delighted Stiles and said, “If you were ever curious about what Laura was like,” he waved at Cora, “except she’s tinier and with more eyebrows.” She looked pleased, and plastered herself to her brother all over again. 

* * *

Hours later, after the multipack dinner, Stella’s pack loaded up tired children and took their leave, thanking them for reuniting the girl with her family, the emissaries exchanging the necessary information for formalizing their new alliance. 

The rest of them, along with the three worn out cubs, sprawled around in the living room, chatting about nothing, but Derek escaped to one of the bedrooms and stretched out on the bed. He wasn't tired but the large group had tested his capacity for being social, and with Stiles attached like a barnacle to his dad, he took the chance to steal away.

"Hey." Cora pushed the door open enough to peek in at him and he raised an arm in invitation. She came into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, then scooted across the bed and laid back with her head pillowed on Derek's belly. 

"Stiles fell asleep out there. He’s propped up on his dad, who looks like he’s afraid to move and wake him up.”

Derek smiled and tucked his fingers into her short hair. She’d cut it all off at some point, maybe to go with her new alpha muscles. Her simple clothing style hadn’t changed much, but the way she carried herself did. She looked powerful, still tiny but deadly, and confident in a way he’d never felt himself when he was an alpha. Maybe in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a naïve teenager. 

He couldn’t remember Laura being this way after she’d become the alpha. She had never been _substantial_ the way his mother had been, the way Cora was now. And he had loved her and needed her in ways she couldn’t possibly have been prepared for, things she thought she could fix by getting him to talk about it. _How can I help you if you won’t talk to me, Derek? I’m your Alpha now, Derek, I can’t help you when you’re keeping things from me. Use your words, Derek._

“Derek, do you want to talk about it?” His fingers twitched and tightened in her hair for a split second, because it was such an echo of the memory, how Laura would dig and dig until he’d give something up. It was easier that way. There were still days when he could feel her watching him, wondering when he would be back to normal, would be a proper beta instead of a stupid kid who made awful decisions. He felt traitorous just having those thoughts but now here was his other sister questioning him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” It came out more sullen than he intended. He didn’t want it to be like that with Cora, him closing down and her pushing until it was an argument. 

She leaned up on an elbow to look him in the face, but he closed his eyes. “You don’t have to talk if that’s not what you want, I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Beacon Hills is in good hands for once, and Stiles is getting better,” he replied haltingly, making a conscious effort not to shut her out. 

“It seems like you all look out for Stiles very well. I just want to be sure somebody is taking care of you.” She paused for a moment. “His stuff is in here.”

“He, we- it’s not like that. Why is everybody so worried about where Stiles sleeps? We both have trouble with sleep. You remember. It helps, having somebody there. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Even when he wanted to talk - about Stiles and the assault, how the physical contact helped both of them on the worst days, sometimes it was like speaking a foreign language and he still wasn’t fluent. He wanted to know things about her too, especially about her colorful emissary, and how the hell Isaac ended up as her second. 

“How long have they been pack? Noah and Stiles.” 

“Six weeks, give or take a few days.”

“Whoa,” she said, disbelieving. “He stuck to McCall that long? I’m not sure if that makes him blind or loyal.” 

“Loyal,” Derek replied immediately, then added quietly, “And Scott never made him pack. I didn’t know. Stiles didn’t either, he just thought he couldn’t feel the bonds because he was human.”

She didn’t answer for a long time, until finally he opened his eyes to find her watching him, a speculative look on her face. 

“Peter told me how close you came to losing him. You still smell like fear, just for a few seconds here and there.” It wasn’t so much a question. And Laura used to do that too, tell him what he was feeling based on what chemosignals he was putting off. It had been a long time since he’d been around anyone with senses that strong, who also wouldn’t be too cautious or distracted to say anything. 

But Cora surprised him. She always had, even when she was very small. Instead of using the knowledge to pick and pry at his secrets, to try and make him verbalize what she thought he felt, she ran a calming hand over his shoulder and gripped his arm lightly. She didn’t tell him what he was feeling, but instead her eyes turned kind and she said, “I’m glad you have each other, and I’m sorry I wasn't there for you, Derek.”

“You didn’t know,” he said.

“No, and I should have. I don’t want anything like this to happen again, we’re family, Der. I will always come for you when you need me.” She snuggled back into his side and started a song playing quietly on her iphone, then set the device between them. While they talked about Peter’s accidental child acquisition, and she asked questions about Malia who she had yet to meet, they took turns selecting songs to play for each other. 

“I remember doing this with you and Laura, laying around playing CDs and talking. She used to call it ‘playing DJs.’ I missed it a lot, after,” Cora said.

“I forgot about that,” Derek said, smiling.

“Did you do this with her? When it was just you two?” 

“No,” he said, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear, “the last time we did this was with you. I remember you were really into Gwen Stefani.” 

“Well, it was better than Laura’s Britpop, and it looks like you finally moved on from all Blondie all the time.”

That pulled a burst of laughter out of him, and Cora looked pleased with herself. As the song ended, he said softly, “You talk about them so easily.” 

“Werewolves shouldn’t live in a den where the scent of death lingers.” The way she said it made it sound like an axiom she’d learned. He could see the wisdom of the saying. Before he could answer, she added, “I’m glad you and Stiles are doing this grand adventure. I think you’ve been fighting for your life for so long that your wounds have never had a chance to heal. It’s nobody else’s job to decide when you’ve healed enough, or how you should remember them.”

“I like it when you talk about them.”

“Okay.”

They both turned at the light tapping at the door, to see Noah push it open, a grumbling Stiles at his side. Derek sat up, and moved out of the way as Noah walked Stiles over and handed him down to sit on the edge, then moved to pull his shoes off. 

He must have looked as alarmed as he felt because Cora came around to slip an arm around him. 

“Dad,” Stiles protested weakly.

“Don’t you ‘dad’ me,” he said, and turned to Derek, “My son is a stubborn ass who won’t tell us he’s in pain. Can you do your pain sucky thing?”

“Come on, Dad.”

“No, you shut it,” he said, one finger pointed at his son, “While you were napping, you were doing that squeaky thing you do when something hurts real bad, so don’t try to pull the wool over, kid. Derek’s gonna help you.”

Derek sat down and reached for Stiles’ damaged arm, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He started to pull at Stiles’ pain, but there wasn’t much to do. “Oh,” he said. 

“What’s ‘oh,’ aren’t you going to help him?” Noah demanded. He was in overprotective mode, and Derek couldn’t really blame him, but it stung a little that the man thought he wouldn’t do whatever he could.

“Dad,” Stiles said again, finally getting his attention. “Stop. I didn’t tell Derek because the wolfy mojo doesn’t really work for this.”

By this point, the whole nosy blended pack was peering around the doorway, acting like Stiles’ pain personally offended them. Noah was stuffing pillows around his son, propping him up in the bed, and Stiles looked resigned. His lack of reaction to the pushiness was Derek’s clue that the migraine was a bad one. 

“Cora,” he whispered, “I put a soft icepack in the freezer when we got here, can you go get it, and take some of them with you?” 

Cora nodded and shooed everyone back out the door, pulling it mostly closed behind her and leaving only Noah and Derek together in the bedroom with Stiles. 

“Sorry son, I panicked, it’s one of those damn headaches isn’t it?” Noah said, directing the words at Derek while still watching his son. Stiles’ forehead was creased with pain, his breaths coming in little huffs. Derek nodded and took what little discomfort he could pull, then wrapped a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and kneaded gently at the spasmed muscles there.

Cora came back with the icepack, followed by Ramona who was leading a sleepy Cody and Caleb by the hand. Derek took the icepack from her and pressed it to Stiles’ temple, then watched Ramona push her two little brothers up onto the bed and arrange them to snuggle up to Stiles’ side, before putting herself carefully in between them and the edge of the bed.

Noah also observed them intently, then turned to Derek and asked, “Is this a wolf thing?”

Derek nodded and answered quietly, “Remember we talked about how close to the wolf she is? Stiles is an injured packmate. It’s pure instinct, and hers are very strong right now.” 

“Huh. It seems like a lot.”

“It wouldn’t be for a werewolf, but it might be for a human,” Derek replied, and then added to Stiles, “I can have Peter come get them.” 

“No,” he said, “it’s good. Little cuddle-cubs.”

“I’m gonna step out now,” Noah said, and pressed a hand to Stiles’ shoulder, “I’m sorry you’re hurting son, but it looks like this crew will take care of you.”

“It’s just a headache, Dad,” Stiles whispered.

“Doesn’t matter, kid,” he met Derek’s eyes over the pack pile, and gave him a sad smile, then bent down to kiss the crown of Ramona’s head, before leaving the room with Cora. 

Nico sidled past them in the doorway, carrying a mug, which he set down on the bedside table. Turning to Derek he said, “Have him drink that, it won’t help the headache directly, but it will relax him and help him sleep.”

“So much fussing,” Stiles murmured, and Derek huffed a little in amusement, and picked up the mug. 

“What’s in it?”

“It’s just valerian tea, no spooky stuff,” he said with a smile, then he left too, closing the door behind him with an audible click. 

“How bad?” Derek asked. 

“Pretty bad, came on fast,” Stiles answered. They both spoke in near whispers, Stiles mumbled his words in the way he did when he was trying to keep his head very still to minimize the head pain. “Think I overdid it today,” he added.

“You think?”

Stiles cracked an eye open at the sarcastic tone, and one side of his mouth twitched in amusement. 

“Can you drink some of this tea? I’m going to change.” Derek pressed the mug into Stiles’ hands and got up to change into sleep pants.

“Tastes awful,” Stiles complained, and went to set the mug down, only for Ramona to sit up and glare at him. He sighed and sipped more of the tea, face scrunched in displeasure, while she supervised.

“Good job, cub,” Derek said to her, and lowered himself carefully into the bed next to Stiles, trying not to jostle him too much as he got them all situated into more comfortable positions.

“They’re out there gossiping aren’t they?” Stiles said after a moment.

Derek tilted an ear towards the door and whispered an affirmative, “Peter is scolding your dad. He thinks he’s going to sleep in a chair in the hallway outside your door. Peter’s telling him that a house full of wolves plus…” he paused and stifled a laugh, “Flashdance Brujo, will do a fine job of protecting you from a headache, without your dad throwing his back out.”

“S’not like this is unusual.”

“No, but he hasn’t had to see you suffer with one for weeks.” 

“Hmm.” He dozed off. 

Derek stayed awake watching over him and the cubs, until Peter came in an hour later to get the kids and put them in their own bed. When Stiles turned to his side, one arm thrown over Derek’s chest, the lines in his face smoothing out as the headache pain abated, Derek followed him down into sleep. 

* * *

He woke with Stiles spooning him, his breath on the back of his neck and his hand shoved up Derek’s shirt and lying flat over his chest. In the same instant he registered Stiles’ hips nestled up against his buttocks, and the fact that and he was so aroused he could probably go off like a rocket with a twitch. 

Thankfully, Stiles was deeply asleep, saving Derek the embarrassment. He was past the point where he could think this away, and he slithered off the side of the bed like a mortified twelve year old who’s trying to avoid getting caught by his mother. He’d almost managed to get free when Stiles moaned in a way that went right to his groin, and mumbled, “Where ya goin’, nooo, you’re warm...” 

Derek rushed awkwardly out the door, calling back, “Gotta pee,” crossed the hall and ducked inside the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, and shoved his sleep pants half-way down his thighs, then took hold of himself and stuffed his other hand against his mouth to keep from making a sound. He barely had to touch himself, just a couple drags of his palm until he came so hard he broke into a sweat. 

He slid down the door to sit on the cold tile floor, panting until his heart rate slowed down enough to get up and clean up. 

Cora was leaning against the wall in the hallway when he opened the bathroom door, startling him enough that he knocked back against the door frame. She was fully dressed, standing with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. “Just tell him already, Derry. Geez.” 

He blushed hotly, knowing she knew exactly what he was doing in there, and a slow grin spread over her face. He shushed her and she rolled her eyes.

“He’s snoring, he won’t hear anything.” 

“Everybody else then,” he whispered. 

“Peter and Noah took the cubs to the diner, Nico’s doing some herb thingy in the woods, and Isaac…” she tilted her head, “Well, Isaac is definitely eavesdropping.” 

Derek could hear Isaac laughing, and he hung his head in resignation. 

“Don’t worry about it, big bro. Let’s talk, come walk with me outside.”

He gestured to his sleep pants and bare feet, and Cora rolled her eyes again. “Okay, if you want to go change and risk waking him up…” 

He sighed and followed her out the door and down a little trail to the water’s edge, trying not to think about how soft and sleep warm Stiles was in the morning when he wasn’t fully awake, and how much he just wanted to go crawl back in the bed with him. 

They climbed out and sat down on one of the boulders that jutted out into the water, and Derek threw pebbles far out into the lake, one at a time from the handful he picked up. Cora threw a few pebbles of her own, and when their hands were empty, she bumped shoulders with him and said, “You should tell him.” 

“Cora,” he said on an exhale, “I’m… I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him.”

“Is he your mate?” she asked bluntly. 

He paused, flicked out a claw and started scratching marks into the top of the rock, little swirls, spirals, a triskele. There were other marks there, some old and weathered, some new, from a myriad of people who’d been here before him. 

Finally he said, “I know mates are more important to us than to them, but I’m okay with things the way they are. Me rushing into things, it’s never been a good thing.”

“But you still want it to be more than it is.” 

And again, he took his time to respond, while Cora waited with more patience than he remembered her having. “I want it to be real.” She gave him a puzzled look, and he said, “No, that’s not… it is real, the friendship we have, and the pack bond. I want…” Derek took a deep breath and admitted, “He doesn’t want me like that. He doesn’t smell that way, ever. Now.”

She frowned in thought. “Now? Is it from the injury? Did he before?”

“Before what? Before we were chasing a band of terrorists and rogue hunters? Before when he was dating Lydia? Or after, when we were afraid…” he clamped his mouth shut over the words.

“That he’d never wake up,” she finished for him. He swallowed and nodded.

“And he’s still recovering. He gets tired. He has those headaches. I don’t want to put one more thing on him,” She looked dubious, but again held her tongue and waited for him to continue. 

“I’m not lonely anymore, Cora. It could be like this forever, and it would still be good, because I’m not lonely.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes? I think so. Or I’m getting there.”

“Okay,” and she tipped forward and hugged him.

He hugged her back and said, “Okay? That’s it? No more interfering in my non-existent love life?”

“As long as you’re okay with your sad wanking in the bathroom while Sleeping Beauty snores in the other room, I have no objections.”

“You’re a horrible person who should stop talking.” 

“Dude, you’re the one who friend-zoned yourself.”

“Don’t call me dude!” There was a glimmer in her eye that let him know that he should have kept his mouth shut. 

“Dude, His Dudeness, El Duderino! Waaaahhhhh!” She shrieked when he lunged for her, and jumped from the boulder to the shore, tearing back up the trail with Derek hot on her heels. 

He caught up to her when they were nearly at the house, grabbing her around the waist and flipping her upside down over his shoulder like he used to do when they were kids. She squealed with giggles the same way as then too, and a memory of their parents, standing on the porch laughing and spurring them on while they wrestled on the lawn, slammed into him along with a wave of grief, potent in its many years of denial. 

He set his sister down on her feet and wrapped both arms around her, and she simply let him have the moment, strength flowing from her heart to his. Cora went up onto her toes to nuzzle into his throat, not really scent marking him, but more as a comfort. 

After a moment, he choked out, “Will you be my Alpha?” and felt her whole being go rigid for just a second, before she relaxed again.

“You have a pack, Derry. Let’s do this the right way and talk to everybody, okay?”

“You’re already a better alpha than I ever was.”

“Different times, Der.”

* * *

“Chris and I parted ways only a few weeks after we left Beacon Hills. We- well, we don’t see eye to eye on a few things,” Isaac said. “I stayed with a pack in the Dordogne for about eight months, saw a therapist, then went looking for Cora. I’ve been with her ever since.”

Noah had put Caleb and Cody down for naps after lunch. They were both around the age where a nap wasn’t a given, but between the excitement of a houseful of unfamiliar people, and Dziadziuś’, or ‘Grandpa’s’ storytelling talents, both little boys were out cold in one of the bedrooms. 

Ramona had attached herself to Stiles as soon as they got back from breakfast, and her attention on Cora was unwavering, though she still hasn’t said a word to the alpha, her expressive little face doing enough communicating. Cora had been not standoffish exactly, but was waiting for her to make the first move, either verbally or physically. Given the circumstances, with Ramona’s alpha potential, and being from different packs, it was probably the right way to handle it, and Derek was once again impressed with his sister's alpha confidence.

He could also admit to himself that hour by hour he was becoming more anxious for her to accept him into her pack. That’s what they’d all gathered to talk about, which was why Isaac, her Second, was helping tell their story. And he wondered how long it would take to get used to the idea of Isaac as his baby sister Alpha’s Second. Still too strange to think about. Isaac had been his own first bite and as the most instinctive of his choices, the one he had felt the most protective toward, during those terrible months he’d carried the alpha spark. He’d changed in his time with Cora, become steady and reliable in ways Derek had hoped were possible, but had never had the chance to help him develop. 

Cora took up the story, “Der, when you sent me back to my pack in Chile, I was still recovering from the poisoning. When Isaac looked me up, you know, we were already sort of pack-bonded from before. Once I’d recovered completely, we started talking about Isaac sticking around and us heading back up to the States together, but neither of us wanted to go back to Beacon Hills.” 

“There really wasn’t anything for us there,” Isaac said, and in his peripheral vision, Derek saw Stiles wince, maybe remembering the last time he’d seen Isaac, before the battle with the Oni. 

Isaac continued, “Not with Derek off bounty hunting, we thought, and obviously I didn’t have family or pack there anymore. We’d been looking for other places, Cora’s alpha was looking for a good pack match for us, especially because my temporary resident visa was expiring. And there was one out in Montecito we were going to approach ourselves once we got back to the States.”

Cora looked at Derek, “Remember my friend Luci? From wolf camp?” He vaguely remembered a little girl Cora used to talk to over AOL, and he nodded. 

“Vasquez?” he said.

“Varela,” she corrected.

“Close enough.” 

“Not really,” she smirked, then she grew serious. “Anyways, we never made it as far as contacting the alpha before everything happened.”

“There was a hunter raid,” Isaac said, “well, not really hunters or a raid, just a truckload of bigots who thought grabbing a Hale would be their ticket into a Hunter organization in Santiago.”

“Gods, you guys really are like the Royals of the supernatural aren’t you?” Stiles said.

“Not a terrible comparison if you take away the skullduggery,” Peter replied.

“Arrogant, and no,” Cora said. “Somebody from Cali probably gossiped about mom being full-shift or something. The Hale name doesn’t carry that much weight all the way down there, no matter what those fuckheads thought, but capturing a shifter with so-called ‘full-shift bloodlines’ does.”

Derek cleared his throat, and jerked his head towards Ramona, and mouthed, “Language,” then gestured for Cora to continue.

“We were on a camping trip, like, for fun. It’s mostly peaceful down there, you know, stuff like what happened in Beacon Hills is pretty unusual. Isaac and I were chaperoning the outing for the Alpha’s two kids,” she made finger quotes around chaperoning, “and three other pack kids. All around fifteen or sixteen, so we didn’t have to do much.”

“I’d like to say they came out of nowhere,” Isaac said, “but that’s not really true. We sort of let our guard down, they were almost on us when we noticed. We got the five kids tucked in a ravine-” 

“Not that they stayed there,” Cora said; she still looked mad about that, and Isaac chuckled.

“Well, regardless, we were ready for them, took them down almost before they knew what hit them.”

“One of those dumb kids came up out of the ravine though, she was going to save us-”

“With a fish-gutting knife-”

“The only human, idiot, kinda like you Stiles!” Isaac said. Stiles stuck a foot out and shoved at him, with a “shut up,” and Isaac laughed.

“The pendejo wannabe hunter got a shot off, grazed her leg, lots of blood but not much damage, but by the time we figured out she was gonna be fine and got those fu- uh, jerks contained-”

“I wolfed out and this happened,” Cora’s eyes glowed red for a moment in explanation. Next to him, Stiles started radiating interest, the way he used to when he got onto a research trail back before the injury. Derek could feel it coming off of him almost like a vibration. 

“Yeah, we both kind of freaked, like, we left the idiots tied up in the back of their own truck for our alpha to deal with later, packed up all the kids and drove directly to the emissary, do not pass go, do not collect $200,” Isaac said. “I asked her to be my alpha on the spot.”

Cora smiled at him affectionately, and leaned forward to run a hand over his neck. “He did, and it was kind of a no-brainer to say yes.”

“But why didn’t you tell me, all those times we talked?” Derek asked, emotion thickening his voice.

“Oh god, Der,” she looked at him with big round eyes full of sorrow. “I mean, I wasn’t even nineteen yet, so unprepared, and my alpha pretty much spirited me away to werewolf bootcamp for over a year. I was lucky they let Isaac go with me.” She stood up and moved to crouch in front of Derek, taking both of his hands in hers. “And I know how much you hated being the alpha, and I didn’t want you to be afraid for me, well, more than you always are. I didn’t want you to make yourself into a shield for me again either.” 

Derek opened his mouth like he was going to object, and Cora put a hand over it, “You know you would have, you’d have raced right down to find me and apologize and protect me and all of that.” 

Stiles said, “She’s not wrong,” and Derek rolled his eyes, but he nodded too, as he acknowledged the truth of it. If she had told him, he would have left everything behind to protect her from something it looks like she didn’t need protecting from. 

“How did it happen?” Derek asked.

“Well I think that should be obvious,” Peter said, and Stiles opened his mouth to say something, he’d probably already figured it out. 

Cora held her hand out, palm up, and said, “Shut up, both of you, I’m telling this story.” 

She picked up the story again, “Well, first our emissary did a bunch of disgusting herb and sigil tests on me to make sure it wasn’t some bullshit true alpha druid fu-oolishness,” her eyes darted towards the little girl, who was watching Cora wide-eyed from her spot next to Stiles, “which it wasn’t. As far as we can tell, it’s _your_ spark. You gave it to me.”

“No that can’t be right, I burned it up to cure you.”

Stiles sat forward suddenly, “Are you sure it’s the Hale spark? Because for a while, I thought maybe Scott had it, there was so much weird sh- stuff going on at the time.” 

Peter cleared his throat, and Derek looked at him suspiciously, “You knew?”

“I wasn’t so certain, I may also have thought briefly that Scott’s rise was a little too coincidental. But Ms. Martin was the one who knew, or at least who knew it was likely. And she never believed the spark went to Scott,” Peter said. 

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Stiles video called Lydia from his cellphone. She answered from somewhere that looked like a study corral at the university, greeting Stiles briskly before he turned the screen to Cora. She showed her alpha red eyes.

“Hello Cora, it looks like I was correct,” Lydia said.

“So you did know!” Stiles said.

“Of course I knew, you idiot, I’ve known for, oh, eighteen months that it was probable. I was looking to see if there was a way to make Derek's alpha spark come back, or to see if it would eventually regenerate.”

Derek blanched, while Lydia continued “...not that I would do anything to trigger it unless you’d wanted it, Derek. I asked Peter for some books from your vault and he figured out what I was doing. Then we discovered that Cora might have your spark, that it would be unusual although possible to permanently burn it up and survive, so you could have passed it on. Especially since you showed no signs of regenerating it. You’re lucky you didn’t die.”

“Did you know at the time that I could pass the spark to her?” Derek turned to look at Peter, tilting his head to listen closely. He didn’t trust Peter to give him the whole truth, ever, about what happened those few days, but he’d know if he lied outright. 

Before answering, Peter looked over at Noah, and sighed, then said as candidly as Derek had ever heard from him, “None of my information was well-sourced. I knew you could die, you could have both died. I knew it was possible to heal her, but not the odds of you both surviving. I’d found a vague reference to an alpha healing their mate by passing them the spark, but being that you’re siblings, and she obviously was still a beta when she woke up, I didn’t think about it again until Lydia requested the books. After we came back from the train station, it was low priority, so I didn’t _know_ just how likely it was until Ms. Martin shared her research a couple of months ago. And even then I’d say most of what she found was still in the realm of folktale.” 

“Peter was more skeptical, but the tone of the original records didn’t feel like folktales to me,” Lydia said.

“Well, you have the greater facility with language, my dear. I should have deferred to your judgement,” Peter replied. 

“And then, nobody told me what was happening with that militia woman - Monroe, and Gerard Argent, or even that you’d returned to Beacon Hills,” Cora said, “So it wasn’t like there was a lot of sharing going on. I’m still pissed you were caught up in that and didn’t let me know.” 

“Join the club,” Stiles said. “They didn’t tell me for months.” 

Lydia interrupted, “I already know what you all are contemplating now that you’re together. I’ve sent messages to my professors, and I’m coming out there tomorrow. Send me the address, I’ll bring Malia with me. We all have things to resolve, I think.” She hung up abruptly.

Nico said, “Oh I like her. She’s fiery.”

“You have no idea,” Stiles responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. 
> 
> Well, it's been a hell of a month, hasn't it? I hope everybody is staying healthy, both physically and mentally. I miss coffee shops and socializing, which you'd think would leave me more time for writing, but I've learned along with almost everybody else that surviving a pandemic with social isolation does not give you more "time." Lots of love and sympathy to anybody else who is struggling. 
> 
> That being said, some anxiety has lifted, so hopefully fingers crossed, we start moving this road trip along a little. 
> 
> Puppy news: Puppy is freakin' adorable. I love him so much. 
> 
> Hope you like this installment. It has 10000% more Cora than I planned, but less than I need, and another OC because I can. :)
> 
> As always, I look forward to comments, (or questions) and do my best to answer all of them.  
> See ya soon.


	16. Chapter 16

Nico conducting a negotiation is like a completely different person to Nico-who-flirts-with-anyone, and Derek finally felt like he could exhale for the first time since he’d asked his sister to be his alpha. Lydia had blown in like a hurricane a few hours before, Malia in tow, and had immediately taken Nico for a drive so they could talk where they couldn’t be overheard by overprotective werewolves. Nico looked both amused and enchanted, and they’d both come back from the drive with something like professional respect. 

“...the Hale Pack formerly of Talcahuano, represented by Brujo and Emissary Nicolau Carvalho, and Hale pack presently of Beacon Hills, represented by Banshee and Acting Emissary Lydia Martin.” 

It was fascinating watching the process of petitioning to join packs. He’d never seen this done before, in fact had never seen a proper emissary do anything on behalf of a pack. Deaton had been his mother’s emissary since Derek was five years old, according to Peter, and he hadn’t even known the man, much less ever seen him preside over anything ceremonial. And since Deaton had never been forthcoming, most of his initial knowledge about emissaries had come from what Stiles and Lydia had managed to find in the Argent bestiaries. 

He felt a surge of anger at the druid, that he quickly tamped down on, wanting to give this gathering his full attention. Nico explained that each would have an opportunity to voice their opinion, even the children would have a chance to ask their questions. Although decisions would ultimately rest with their guardians, they would have a chance to have their concerns be heard as full-fledged members of the pack. Stiles was taut with interest, keen on taking everything in, and it was so much like before the brain injury, it was making it difficult for Derek to keep his attention Nico and Lydia - he’d missed seeing that level of focus on him.

Ramona sat patiently next to Peter, while her little brothers perched on Noah’s lap. When they got restless, he got up to take them outside but Nico stopped him at the door, and asked for his input before he left the room.

He turned back slightly, resisting both little boys tugging at his hands, and answered, “What I want is for my son and everybody else in this room to be happy. Everything else is just details.” He trusted the sheriff, and he spoke with such certainty Derek was reassured that this was a smart choice. 

Malia got up to follow the sheriff out the door with the cubs, and for a moment Nico seemed to visibly reset his expectations regarding the lack of order being followed. Cora gave him a sympathetic glance, and Isaac backed them up by calling out to Malia before she could leave the room. 

Malia looked at Lydia and shrugged before turning to Cora and the Emissary. “I’m a coyote, I don’t need an alpha, but Cora’s my cousin, so if everybody else is fine, I’m fine.” Cora’s brows rose at the statement and Nico looked charmed. Malia continued, “But Stiles can decide, he’s my anchor.” She turned and walked out of the room without waiting for an answer.

Derek watched the Emissary as he realized nothing about this blended pack would go according to protocol, especially when Lydia and Stiles began talking to each other, Isaac and Peter seemed to be having a conversation consisting of smirks and head tosses, and Ramona left her seat to approach Cora. He was pleased to see that instead of seeming put out that he’d lost control of the room, Nico seemed amused and a fond smile lit his face as he watched the interactions.

And he could still feel the gaping wound he carried, that he’d had to create a pack without having the advantage of connection or trust or history. How there was meant to be legacy in the formation of a new pack, that his pack of broken teenagers had no safety net, he himself had no mentors or wise ones to look to. Even if he still felt the weight of guilt for the loss of his small, desperate pack, he can find a trace of sympathy for his younger self in the making of it. 

Ramona’s clear little voice cut through the chatter and his reflections as she leaned into Cora and asked, “Can I see your eyes again?”

“Of course, _querida,”_ Cora answered her seriously, then her eyes glowed crimson. Derek wasn’t able to see the little girl’s face from where he sat, but she must have shown his sister her own wolf eyes, because he heard her sharp intake of breath, and she looked up at Derek. He knew it was the reality of a seven year old with an alpha spark, no matter how undeveloped, really hitting her. 

Peter must have noticed the same thing, because he said, “That’s another reason for Cora to merge packs. Ramona chose us, but without an alpha, she would come into that power much too young. I’d do almost anything to prevent that.” 

Derek could read the meaning behind those words, that Peter would find an alpha to kill for the spark if he felt his pack needed that kind of protection, and as he exchanged a look with the others, he could see that a few of them knew it too.

She turned to Nico for confirmation, and he nodded and said, “That’s how it works in families with born-alphas, so there’s no reason to think it wouldn’t be similar under these circumstances, even if she’s not blood related. If she’s pack, the lack of blood ties won’t matter that much.”

Cora returned her attention to Peter and said, “I’m not settling a pack in Beacon Hills,” but Peter waved off her objection by repeating, _“Whatever_ I need to do. Although if you’d be willing to locate temporarily to Beacon Hills, it would make for easier planning.” 

She then looked to Isaac, who was watching Peter consideringly. “That could work, Alpha,” he said. 

Stiles bumped Derek’s elbow and jerked his chin towards Isaac with an analytical expression, but all Derek felt was pride at his baby sister, taking her position as pack leader, but looking to the strengths of her packmates as advisors. He was reminded of why Isaac was his first real choice for a beta. Only Isaac hadn’t gotten a chance to reach his potential before Derek had felt the need to drive him away for his safety - a decision that had turned out to be yet another in the long list of panic driven bad decisions after Laura died. 

He wondered how much specialized training Isaac had received while Cora was learning about being an alpha. He also wondered how they ended up with Nico as their emissary, and made a mental note to ask her later. 

His wandering thoughts were arrested by Peter asking Cora to show the child her wolf.

“How did you know about that?” Cora said slowly, “Nobody knows but these two,” she tipped her head toward Nico and Isaac.

Peter replied, “Oh please, I remember you as a little girl, working every day on your goal to be the youngest full-shifter with -” he trailed off.

“With Uncle Robert,” Cora finished. Once again Derek was struck by how naturally his sister talked about their dead family. Laura had avoided speaking about them at all, and it felt strange to hear the names of the dead spoken after so many years.

“Quite,” Peter said, looking to the side for a beat, then back to his niece. “You can’t convince me that you’d have let that go, after.”

Cora grinned sharply, and said, “My first time was right after I got back to my old pack, a few weeks before I turned eighteen.” 

“Seems like there’s a lot of things you didn’t tell me,” Derek grumbled, and Cora looked apologetic but didn’t say anything. He knew he sounded petty, but he was tired of all the secrets, and how easily they all kept them.

“Well the least you can do now is show all of us,” Peter goaded. Cora rolled her eyes and stood, while Ramona continued to watch her intently as she started to strip. 

“Hey!” Stiles squawked and partially covered his eyes, to the amusement of the wolves still in the room, but Derek knew his curiosity would never allow him not to watch the shift. 

Regardless of how he felt about her not telling him, Derek felt a fierce stab of pride when she flowed into her wolf shape. As she dropped to four feet, fur fluffing out into glossy black along her back and tail and rich browns in her ruff and down through the chest, the little girl’s breath started to hitch, and a high wailing moan escaped her. 

Nobody in the room was ready for Ramona to throw her small body at the wolf’s neck and start crying with broken sobs. Cora sat absolutely still as the little girl rubbed her face into the fur at the wolf’s neck and breathed in her scent. 

She kept crying as Peter went to his knees next to the two of them, hovering his hands over both girls as if afraid to touch but also unable to let them sort it out on their own. The whole scene was bewildering to Derek, less so because of his sister, instead because more and more, he’s seeing the uncle he knew from before the fire and the coma and the blood magic. He must have made a sound of his own, because Stiles slid an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in closer. 

After a few minutes while the little girl’s sobs went on unabated, Cora shifted back, drawing Ramona in close as she did, while Isaac threw a blanket around them both. Ramona continued to scent her frantically, rubbing her hands down Cora’s cheeks and burying her face in the alpha’s throat. It wasn’t until Cora began to scent her back that her agitation started to subside. 

Once it did, the little girl very deliberately bared her throat to the alpha, and startled, Cora looked to her emissary and to Isaac. 

Isaac lifted a shoulder and said, “I think you know this is already down to just formalities. If you’re ready, I have no objections.” 

Next to him, Nico affirmed the statement of the Second, and told her, “That the pack merge happens organically, makes it no less binding than a formal ceremony. You should proceed however you see fit.” 

Cora turned back to the child and said to her, “Dry your eyes, _bomboncito,_ I’ll be your alpha.”

The sigh of relief from multiple people in the room was audible, and Cora’s teeth elongated as she put them very gently to the child’s throat, while her eyes glowed red. As Ramona’s glowed gold, the red in Cora’s eyes intensified, and already the red halo around Ramona’s irises seemed lessened. Cody and Caleb came thundering into the room, Noah following in their wake, and Malia trailed behind.

“Well I know I said carry on without me, but I’m relieved I only missed a little of the interesting stuff,” the sheriff teased while the two little ones tumbled over their sister and the alpha, who scented them until their eyes glowed golden in response to the new bond. 

Cora allowed the children to snuggle up to her for a few minutes, then she stood and quickly pulled her clothing back on and crossed the room to Derek again, holding out one hand to him. He rose and took her hand, and although he towered over the petite frame of his younger sister, in that moment he felt sheltered. 

“So Derry, are we doing this?” Cora said, smiling at him and gripping his hand which had started to tremble. He turned his head to seek out Stiles, torn between the twin pulls of his alpha sister and his anchor, unwilling to go further forward without him.

“Right there with you, big guy,” Stiles said, with an open look. 

Relieved, Derek faced his sister again, and bent forward, baring his neck, and she shifted enough for her eyes to glow and fangs to extend, before placing them gently at his throat the same way she did with Ramona. Derek felt the bond take hold, so much stronger than it had previously been, and then Cora wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed the air from his lungs. He felt the bond with Isaac also come into sharp focus, and raised his head to see his former beta had moved close enough to nearly be touching the two of them, his face vulnerable in a way he remembered from so long ago. 

“Thank you,” she said, before drawing back and looking to Nico for his guidance. The emissary waved his hands as if to say ‘carry on,’ and she turned to Peter, who smiled at her without any hint of his usual smarm or sarcasm, and presented his wrist. With him, she did break the skin, and four little pinpricks of blood welled up before he raised his wrist to his own mouth and licked them away. 

Malia looked between her cousins and her father, then extended her own wrist for the same. Cora narrowed her eyes at her cousin, prompting Malia to say, “What? Derek’s my packmate and is in your pack now, which means Stiles will be, so I want it too.” She shook her arm in front of Cora’s face once more, and then it was done.

As Cora turned to Lydia, Nico stepped up next to her and bent down to speak quietly, “You can’t bite a banshee, the bond that would create is volatile and dangerous; you can form a bond with one, but they don’t submit to an alpha the way the rest of the pack does.” 

“Then how does it work?” 

“It’s a similar method to how you’d create the pack bond with a human,” Nico answered. “Except when you reach out with your spark, you’ll feel the contact with her magic, and then a connection only if she allows it. It’s a little bit like a magical call-and-response.” 

“Huh,” Cora said, processing the information, “but I bit you, and you’re human-ish.” 

“Yes, but we are Alpha and Emissary, and we needed to create the physical connection for my magic to potentiate your spark. You know this, Corazon.”

“Then how - you know I haven’t done this with a human,” she said, as her glance landed on Noah and then Stiles. 

“Use the Force, Alpha.” 

“Har, har, none of your jokes, funny man,” Cora said, her glare mixing with a grin, and Derek felt the tension dissipate in a way he hadn’t since his mother had been alpha, when rituals took place out of custom and choice, rather than always out of dire need. 

Nico returned the grin and said, “You should form the bond with Noah and Stiles first. Making a connection with a banshee will demand more of you, although this should be simple, since everybody wants it.” 

Noah pointed out, “Stiles has a spark.” 

“Undeveloped,” Nico said, and Stiles frowned, “No offense is meant, if I understand correctly, you’ve never had a proper mentor. We can sort that later if you wish. The relevant thing is you’re both human. So for the two of you, it’s about your intention to have and maintain a connection, that allows a supernatural being to create a bond.”

He directed both Stilinskis to clasp hands with her. “Feels like last time,” Noah said as an aside to Stiles, who shushed him when Nico started speaking again. 

“Okay Cora, with your hand on their pulse points, feel the blood, hear the heartbeat, smell the scent of them, see the person. Then reach out with your spark. You’ll feel it.” 

Cora raised her gaze to them, her eyes glowing red, and both Noah and Stiles dropped their jaws open in identical looks of surprise as the red flared to a brilliant vermillion, then returned to her normal alpha color. Derek felt the bonds between them fall into place, and felt it deepen his connection to both Stilinskis even more. The pull towards Stiles became even stronger - anchor and packmate and, well, whatever their friendship had evolved into. 

“I take it back,” Noah said, “that was different.” 

“Holy shit, dad,” Stiles said quietly, and he closed his eyes like he could see inward. “Remember before when I told you I could see the bonds for each of you like little nebula glowy balls?” 

“Yeah, son. Did it change?” 

“They’re like freaking christmas lights now. Like, a dozen glowballs.”

“Oooh,” Nico said, “That is different!” 

“It’s all different with an alpha, instead of what we had before. The alpha anchors the pack, and the pack anchors the alpha,” Derek said, as Cora turned to Lydia and held out a hand one more time. 

A stillness fell over the room as Lydia came forward to take Cora’s hand, and a look of concentration came over both women, not strained, but relaxed and powerful on Cora’s side, intense and determined on Lydia’s. They both swayed together for a moment, Lydia’s other hand coming up to grasp at Cora’s arm, then the air seemed to dance around them and it grew heavy with pressure and a sensation of time slowing down, followed by a deep rumble that Derek felt in his feet more than heard. 

His ears popped, the cubs whined, and his ears popped again. Next to him, Stiles swayed, and whispered a ‘whoa.’ 

His sister looked over at him, her eyes glowing even brighter than before, and behind her, Nico did a very undignified bunny hop of glee. 

Cora and Lydia both acted dazed for a few seconds, but rapidly shook it off, Cora physically twisting into a shake like flinging water off. Lydia’s reaction was more subtle, a few slow blinks, followed by a head toss and then it seemed like she stood just a little taller. 

“What was that?” Stiles said, putting voice to Derek’s thoughts, and Nico replied, “That was an alpha connecting to a banshee. You both just got a powerup, probably you too, Stiles. How do you feel, Titania?” 

Lydia bestowed her most potent valedictorian smile upon him at the nickname, before answering, “Queenly, although I’m really more of a Babd.” Then the smile morphed into the grim look of battle, a reminder of much they had survived, and just how Lydia had come by her power in the first place. “We know more betas equals more power for the alpha, but what does this connection do for me?” 

“Fully anchored in an alpha and a pack, You’ll have more control, more precision. Your abilities should have less control over you. It’s similar to what happens with an emissary, but due to the nature of your powers even more noticeable.”

“You mean I won’t scream in the middle of my Computational Fluid Dynamics lecture?” Derek looked at her sharply, this was something she hadn’t mentioned.

“Well, no. You’ll still scream for supernatural involved death. Or pack, or family. But you’ll only be heard by the supernatural and those with innate magic, or those bonded into your pack. The important thing is that they won’t be able to see that it’s you screaming, even if they’re sitting right next to you.”

“What about the fugue states?” Lydia asked.

“Have you been having those?” Nico replied.

“I haven’t had one since…” and Derek knew what was coming, remembered the slaughter.

“The marmennlar pod,” Stiles said.

“The last place Derek and I tracked Monroe’s and her goons from,” Malia said.

Lydia’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “Yes, I don’t remember anything between the scream, and walking into their home.”

Nico’s eyes widened. “Okay, that? Is some next level shit. Your typical Banshee isn’t a magical bloodhound, can you imagine what Hunters would do with a power like that?” He shuddered. “Do you always go to the bodies when you scream?”

“Not every time, but often and especially if I’m alone.” This was something he hadn’t known, that being alone affected whether she was drawn to the bodies.

Nico narrowed his eyes at her speculatively, “What else can you do?” 

“Sound cannon, she got the ability after the wackadoodle psychiatrist drilled a hole in her head,” Malia said. Derek wanted to roll his eyes at the name, but the description was accurate. The first time he’d seen her channel the power of her scream as a weapon had been a shock.

Nico looked stunned.

“Trepanation, yes. I don’t know if the trauma amplified an existing ability or if it’s a result of the procedure. And it’s less of an LRAD, and more of an expansion wave with no lateral spread. I can show you later.”

They all waited while Nico seemed to size her up, while he closed his eyes, and they could see the rapid movements under his lids, like he was reading something. After a moment, his eyes opened wide, and he said, “Little sister, I don’t know what kind of extra Banshee you are, but we’re going to have so much fun finding out, I need a demonstration!”

He turned to Cora, “If we don’t get to stick around for a bit, I will weep.”

“Well we don’t want to ruin your eyeliner, Niccy. Uncle Peter, can you find us a place for a few months?” 

“Consider it done,” Peter said, and Derek had a stab of affection for the confidence in his voice. It lacked the suggestion of a hidden agenda that had shadowed Peter’s words since his coma.

Stiles' phone vibrated with a notification, and when he thumbed it open to look, Derek saw a picture of an orange and black gila monster onscreen. Stiles clicked the text to speech symbol, and Derek could hear the tinny voice. 

> _From Jackass: hey man. Everything okay? I felt some kind of fucking phone-home impulse. It reminded me weirdly of Lydia._

Stiles smiled genuinely, and tilted the screen so Derek could see. He then snapped three pictures, one of Cora and Isaac snuggled together, then Lydia talking with Nico, and one more of most of the group lounging around, and sent those over. He hit the mic button for speech-to-text and said “New alpha. Derek’s sister. Talk later?” very quietly, although Isaac, always curious, looked up for a second.

Stiles’ phone vibrated again with a thumbs up emoji, and a message. He squinted at it for a moment and then looked pleased, showing it to Derek: 

> _From Jackass: Good for you, Stilinski._

Then he frowned and looked up at Cora, then to Derek.

“What,” Derek said.

“Ethan.” 

Cora’s head shot up to glare at them and a note of fury tinged her scent for a second. He watched his sister subtly tamp down the reaction and return her attention to the discussion Nico and Lydia were having about her abilities.

“That’s not going to be as much of an obstacle as you think,” Derek said quietly. 

“What? Why?”

“Later.” 

“Ugh, fine.”

* * *

Derek could feel it, the way the additional power his sister had received from her new packmates raised the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Her eyes still held a tinge of red, nails and canines a bit sharper than a human’s. He knew from experience it would be uncomfortable to remain fully in her human form until she was able to burn off some of the energy and let the new pack bonds settle in. The changes rippled over his own skin like the Santa Anas, and made him want to run too. His wolf-sight picked up on the shimmer of that same power, sitting lightly upon the emissary, and as he turned to look, he could see the same effect around Stiles. His uncle’s eyes flared electric blue for a second, and a knowing smile crossed his face as he also looked at Stiles and the others. 

He sensed she would be ready to run soon, but waited for the alpha to make a move. Isaac was tapping away at his phone, a satisfied look on his face, probably searching for a place close enough for a day trip, but isolated enough for a pack run. At least, he hoped that was the plan. It was a common way for new packmates to bond more tightly. It couldn’t be a proper hunt, they have no way to process a large kill, but it would be good for even the little ones’ stability to get a feel for the chase within the new pack.

They chose a site an hour’s drive north, scrub and pine hills up above the Stampede Reservoir on the California side of the state border. Nobody was inclined to stay behind, so they loaded up a few lawn chairs for the humans, and bags of trail mix and granola bars, and a couple of coolers full of cold water and sodas. 

They piled out of their vehicles on a little used forest service road, and quickly set up a small shade tent and the chairs for those who wouldn’t be running with the pack. While they were making up the day camp, all of the shifters took Cody and Caleb, and set out at a quick run around the immediate area, playing tag and chase, so they could burn off some energy. They would need to stay behind for the big pack run, since they were still so little, but it was important that they share in that form of bonding. Only Ramona stayed with Noah ‘to keep him company,’ she said, while her brothers played, pouting a little because her _Dziadziuś_ wouldn’t be joining them, but excited to run with her new alpha. 

Malia came bounding back first, and handed off one of the boys to Noah, then she ducked behind a truck and returned in her full shift, throwing herself down at Stiles’ feet, tongue hanging out in a coyote’s grin as if to say ‘well, let’s get on with it.’ Stiles scratched absentmindedly at her ears while he watched the rest of them get ready. 

Cora winked at Ramona, then pulled her shirt off over her head, dropped the track pants she was wearing and gracefully shifted to a black wolf with a dark brown ruff. Where Malia was taller and rangier, Cora in her wolf form was small for a wolf, more compact, powerfully muscled and only slightly larger than the coyote. She sat, calm and regal, in a way that reminded him strongly of their mother, waiting for the rest to be ready to go. Ramona watched her with her hands clasped to her chest, and her eyes sparkling like a disney princess. 

“Well, Pete,” Noah said, grabbing everyone’s attention, “seems like a good time to show off.”

With all eyes on him, Peter smirked, then shucked his shirt and pants, shifting laboriously into a tan and cream wolf with white socks. Ramona squealed, shifted into her beta form and threw herself at him, hugging him around the neck and burying her face in his ruff. The expression on Cora’s wolf face was so astonished, Derek couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him, although he was just as surprised as his sister. As far as he knew, Peter hadn’t full-shifted since before the fire.

Noah was grinning from ear to ear, eyes crinkled up in delight, and he said to Derek, “We’ve been saving that up for you. He got his full-shift back after we all did that pack bond thing before you two left town.” They watched Malia rise from where she sat next to Stiles, and stalk around her father, sniffing him suspiciously for a moment, before pouncing on him playfully. He responded by rolling to his back, letting the cub and coyote pile on in a tussle.

“I’m not sure which he needed more, pack or family,” Noah said after a moment, his expression on the man and his two daughters soft and accepting. 

“Or a friend,” Derek answered, just as quietly. Noah looked at him and tapped the side of his nose.

Isaac was beta shifted also, and they were waiting on him, so he toed off his shoes, then pulled off his shirt and pants, shifting for the first time in front of the others, grunting with the effort. He envied the ease with which his sister and cousin seemed to find their full canid form, but that envy faded away naturally as he landed on four paws, and turned to snuffle briefly at his Stiles. The man sighed into his ruff and said, “I will never get tired of this,” and Derek chuffed his answer, pleased by his anchor's approval, then turned away to dash into the treeline with his packmates, the blood and the bond calling to him.

* * *

They ran almost noiselessly through the brush and trees, the bitten wolf nearly as silent as his born counterparts. The alpha-sister startled a flock of small plump birds that rose in front of him, and he snapped his teeth in their direction without slowing. Occasionally one or more of them veered off from the pack, flushing grouse or squirrels, and they’d give hunt for a few seconds before coming back into the pack. They didn’t need to stalk, catch, kill; they revelled in the primal connection, the exhilaration of chasing and being chased, running as fast as they could and still have the girl-cub-alpha keep up. 

The cousin-coyote broke away, and he followed her to a stand of brush, where she crashed through the other side, dragging a large bird, wild turkey his verbal nature supplied, neck broken but otherwise undamaged. The girl-cub-Ramona threw her small head back, scenting the air, her eyes flashing gold and orange, and she galloped away from them, bursting through her own patch of brush, driving a rabbit in front of her. The prey leapt and twisted, trying to evade the child-predator, while uncle-wolf and the Isaac-beta blocked escape and sent the animal dashing into the teeth of the wolf-cub, who snatched it cleanly from mid-leap and snapped its neck.

The others gathered around the cub, bumping and chuffing in pride at the small predator’s first pack kill, licking at the blood on her face while she held her trophy in her arms with a look of belonging and triumph. 

* * *

Back at the day camp, after everybody was finished praising Ramona for her accomplishment and they’d taken pictures of her and Malia with their trophies, Noah helped the little girl get changed into clean clothes. Isaac took the two kills off to a small rock a short distance away and downwind from where the pack was sitting, and field dressed them to take home, being careful to preserve the hide for the girl. Malia and Ramona watched with interest as he worked, and Derek caught his uncle staring at both girls, a vulnerability on his face that he was sure he wouldn’t want brought to anyone’s attention. He was glad it didn’t go unnoticed though, judging by the way Noah was looking between them. 

He started to turn away from the little group, when he caught Ramona’s clear, high voice, asking Malia, “Are you my sister now?” His heart clutched in his chest at the longing in the little girl’s voice, and the way his cousin put her arm around the cub and said simply, “Yes.” 

Once Isaac was done with the carcasses, they were packed away in one of the coolers and covered with their remaining ice, then they cleaned up their snack wrappers and bottles, while Stiles lectured the little boys about ‘leave no trace.’ Finally they climbed into the vehicles and made the drive back down to the lake house, tired and dusty and filled with a sense of strengthening pack ties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I watched a YT on how to field dress a rabbit. The things we do for the details… that we don’t even end up using! /headdesk/ 
> 
> Uncle Robert is an original character in both my worlds and PDXTrent’s. He mostly exists in our shared conversations as a fully realized character - the much older brother of Talia Hale. I’m not sure he’ll ever get his own story, because we kind of bend him as we see fit. But he’s kind of the epitome of the Lone Wolf, and for the purposes of my stories, he was also a full shifter, and he once ran the Pacific Crest Trail as a wolf with Satomi. 
> 
> P.S. this chapter was pretty much made readable by PDXTrent and his copious suggestions, because I had garbage brain and couldn’t word. So, thanks!
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos are the fuel that keeps the creative spark alive. (clap for tinkerbell!)


	17. Chapter 17

Malia’s wild turkey was slow grilling on the barbeque. Ramona’s rabbit had been made into stew and had just reached a simmer on the stovetop. It was a Hale family tradition that the first kill be shared with the pack the same night, and each member had a hand in preparing a dish. Even the twins helped with dessert, carefully laying the top crust on each of four pies, two apple and two peach, and the punctures from their little claws when they got too wound up to handle the dough properly were just an added bonus. With a dozen of them in the house, more than half of them werewolves, they’d also picked up big trays of brisket from a local smokehouse, but the star of the meal was what packmates had provided themselves. 

The thought crossed Derek’s mind that he should get the recipe for the stew and forward it to Heather, for the next time Little Sammy ran down prey. He had a feeling she would need it, although if any of the pack prospects worked out for her, they would come with their own rituals to help her build pack traditions from scratch, just as the newly increased Hale pack was doing. 

It had been so long since he’d had that cozy, contented feeling that he felt a little off-balance with nostalgia - happiness and sadness mingling together in his heart as he looked around the room, seeing both the new pack and the missing. 

There were still a couple of hours left before the turkey was ready, and the entire pack had gathered in the living area. Nico was processing some of the things he’d gathered earlier at the reservoir, minerals and vegetation, some beetles, and a small skeleton that he identified as a kangaroo rat, which he’d carefully gathered into a small box. This last item, he explained, was a real treasure to be used for osteomancy, since it was rare to find an entire skeleton. Lydia and Stiles were sitting to either side, listening as he explained the useful properties, both medicinal and magical. 

Cora lounged on the sofa with her head in Isaac’s lap while they talked quietly about plans for their temporary move back to Beacon Hills, what they’d need for the pack and places that might be worth looking for land.

Cody and Caleb were lying on their bellies in the middle of a giant heap of legos that Peter had picked up at the store when he stopped for the ingredients for dinner. Ramona was reading a battered old book called The Birchbark House, that Derek recognized as one of their own childhood favorites. It must have been in storage for all these years. Noah was sitting on the floor with the boys, Malia next to him leaning into his side, and Peter was watching all of them with a hint of the same expression Derek had seen up in the hills, some combination of tenderness and grief.

He didn’t often think of how much Peter had changed, from before the fire, to coming out of the coma, and then again from being brought back from the dead to now. He would probably always be a bit of a trickster, at times more fox than wolf though he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison. The contrast was stark though, his uncle had made connections, put down roots and softened. His mother had an openly antagonistic relationship with her brother, despite his idolizing her, and it seemed like for the first time Peter was experiencing what it was like to be wanted by his pack, not just needed. Of course, then he opened his mouth and took his customary jab at Derek.

"Derek cried when we took him out to catch his first rabbit." Peter’s voice cut through the murmurs of conversation, and Derek winced when everybody in the room looked up eagerly in anticipation of a story. He took back every kind thought he’d ever had about his uncle.

“Aw, softywolf,” Stiles cooed. Lydia slapped at him and he laughed.

“Yes,” Peter continued, “he absolutely refused to kill any bunnies, even when we caught one alive and brought it to him. Told us to put it back in its den before it got too lonely for its mommy.” 

“Thanks for that, Peter,” Derek said, but his uncle’s teasing lacked bite, he knew, even if he flushed deep red up to his hairline over his perceived failings as a cub.

“What did you do?” Ramona whined. She’d already internalized the idea of the first kill dinner being an important ritual and sounded scandalized that Derek might not have had one.

Peter grinned, reminding him again of a fox showing its teeth more than a wolf, and said, “Derek and Cora’s father Samuel went to Costco and bought a half dozen rotisserie chickens and a cheesecake.”

Everyone cracked up, Cora curled up with peals of laughter rolling off the edge of the couch, and Derek shot her a fake sour look and said, “Oh come on, you know this story.”

She flapped a hand at him, speechless with her tears of laughter, and then at Peter as if to tell him to go on.

“Cora, on the other hand…” Peter continued, and Cora sat up abruptly, trying to bite down her mirth. Ramona abandoned her storybook to ask breathlessly, “What did _she_ do?”

“Oh, Cora caught two rabbits and a squirrel on her first hunt. She was seven, just like you, Ramona,” Peter said, very seriously. Stiles cackled and Ramona turned to stare at her with hero worship in her eyes. Derek cracked a tiny smile, waiting for the punchline of the family tale. Peter went on, “She tore the head completely off the squirrel."

Isaac turned his head away to try and hide his giggling, especially when Nico reached out to Cora for a fist bump and proudly told the room, "She's magnificent," as if he were directly responsible for her existence.

Peter added, "We had the pelts from the rabbits tanned and my sister made the fur into a little collar and cuffs to go on her Christmas coat. She was positively feral everytime the temperature dipped below fifty and Talia let her wear it.”

Ramona was open-mouthed in astonishment, and she leaned up against Peter as she asked, “Did you save my rabbit fur?” 

“I did, little wolfling. We’ll have it tanned when we get home.” The little girl’s smile lit up the room and was reflected in the older wolf’s face. It was a far cry from the silent child of only a few days ago.

Derek reached over and tweaked his sister’s short hair. “You made mom save all the rabbit feet for you too. There were seven of them because you ate one before anyone could take it away from you. You took them to school on a string like some kind of pirate with her trophies. Dad had to go talk to your teacher.”

Ramona turned big doe eyes on Peter again and said, “Tato, can we go hunting again tomorrow?”

“Oh god,” Peter said under his breath, and Noah laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Walked yourself right into that one, Hale,” he said.

Peter smiled at the little girl indulgently, and said, “There’s a lovely forest very nearby where our home is currently, the same one where Cora caught her first prey. I’ll take you there to terrorize woodland creatures very soon, Little Wolf.”

Speechless with excitement, the girl turned shining eyes on her new alpha, and Derek marvelled at how resilient the child was turning out to be, in the face of her great losses.

Finished with the sorting task, Nico packed away his new items into a case, and closed it with a sharp click, then turned to Stiles and said, “While we still have some time before dinner, can I take a closer look at the staff Derek had made for you? I’m intrigued by some of the markings.”

Stiles nodded and stood, reaching for the hawthorn staff where it was leaning against the wall. He handed it to Nico, who took it and examined it reverently, turning it over and over in his hands, and running his fingertips over some of the sigils carved into the wood. Derek could feel and smell the echo of the energy his touch was calling out of the staff.

“There’s some serious power embedded in this thing, and it’s been very specifically designed for you. Have you taken it for a test drive yet?” Nico asked.

“Well, just for a couple of trail walks down around where we were staying,” Stiles replied, he motioned Derek over to sit next to him. “It was a gift. Derek got it made for me after we left Beacon Hills. It’s supposed to help me with my physical stability, and Derek said it would make me less noticeable to anyone who means harm, and also give me some defensive advantages, since my arm is still messed up.”

“Mostly these markings are for passive support like balance and anxiety. But see here? And this one?” The brujo traced an outline around specific markings, which sparked blue and orange under the scrape of his fingernail. “These markings are defensive _and_ offensive. And here,” he tilted the staff and indicated what Derek had assumed were decorative lines cut into the wood, “These are Rowan and Rowan ash intarsia. It’s not just ornamental.” 

“Mountain ash?” Derek confirmed. He remembered then that Margot had said that Stiles should call her for a lesson on the properties of the artifact, and felt momentarily guilty that they hadn’t gotten around to it yet. 

“Mmhmm,” Nico answered, “whoever created this has got some mega power and experience, this is not your run of the mill druidry. And the more facility you have with your spark, the greater the advantage this brings you. Masterful craftwork.” 

“I commissioned it from Margot Veilleux, the Oak Seer. As far as I know she did the work herself,” Derek said.

Nico’s eyes and mouth both rounded in surprise. “You know the Oak Seer?”

“I don’t really know her,” Derek said, “One of her packmates, Daniel Solomon, was friends with me and Laura when we still lived in New York.”

“And which pack might that be, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“LaRose,” Derek said, feeling slightly smug about finally having someone he regarded as a strong ally.

Nico shook his head and looked to the ceiling, saying under his breath, _“Madre de…_ ‘LaRose’ he says all butter won’t melt in his mouth like they aren’t legendary, a ‘commission from the Oak Seer’ he says.” He mimicked Derek’s casual tone, then looked back at him smirking. “Okay, you’ve impressed me, Hale.” 

Derek returned the expression, and told him, “You’ll meet her, they’re in Beacon Hills temporarily. Peter can introduce you, they may even be able to use your assistance with the Nemeton.” He was starting to warm up to this man, he was so different to what they’d had to deal with in Deaton, and he thought briefly how much easier things could have been and how many lives could have been saved with an emissary like Nico or Margot. It was reassuring to know his sister had real support as an alpha.

His wandering attention was drawn back to the subject when Nico handed the staff back to Stiles, “Can you feel the ash now? I understand you know the basics of manipulating it.”

“Yeah, now that I know to look for it, it’s like a light buzzing.”

“Yes, it would make it very hard for anything supernatural to even handle this.” He looked at Derek, “I take it you didn’t touch the staff yourself when you presented it to him.”

“No,” Derek said, “it was wrapped in cloth.” 

Nico nodded as if that made sense, then patted his hands on his knees and said, “So, you want to step outside and see what this thing can really do?”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles said, standing and leaning on the staff. Derek reached out reflexively to steady him, but he was already following behind Nico to the back patio. “Anybody who wants to watch me play with my stick, come on!” he called back over his shoulder, and Derek snorted and rolled his eyes, but followed after him.

“Stiles! Jesus, kid,” Noah groaned, but got up with the rest of them to go out to the patio for a demonstration.

* * *

Once Derek realized what Nico meant to do, he bristled with protective instincts. He said it was important that there be some genuine aggressiveness so Stiles could learn to harness the magical synergy that lived in the staff. While he understood the value of the exercise, reining in his need to intervene took all his concentration.

Lydia solved the problem by bribing the twins with Otterpops that were supposed to be their after-dinner treat, and settling them with him and Noah, who was also having difficulty staying out of the fray. With their tiny spectators ensconced in their laps with the melting treats, it was easier to keep to the sidelines.

Malia and Isaac took turns feinting attacks that Stiles parried with the staff. Mild aggression was easily swept aside, but as they warmed up to the game, and their attacks escalated, the repel was amplified to the point where a significant assault attempt saw both werewolves thrown back, airborne as if they’d run full-tilt at a mountain ash barrier. 

Nico called a halt to the demo at that point, since Malia and Isaac were both visibly battered by then, and needed a few minutes to heal and go clean up before dinner. Noah hefted Caleb onto his hip and came forward to ask if it would work the same against somebody who wasn’t supernatural. 

“Not quite the same I don’t think,” Nico said after thinking for a moment, “although you could help him test that. It will still make him harder to hit, as the protective and evasive runes would continue to have their effect even if the Rowan ash doesn’t offer a strike advantage. But in that case, he’d be better off with a conventional weapon.” He turned back to Stiles, “Can you shoot?” 

Noah and Stiles exchanged similar smug looks, and the sheriff answered, “He’s proficient. Derek is too.” 

“Excellent. I’d also suggest that you look into mindfully developing your Spark. The more you can do on your own, the more easily you’ll be able to manifest both the passive and active power in this staff.”

Derek handed a sticky and grape purple stained Cody off to his uncle, and came up next to Stiles, laying a hand on his arm and pulling away the pain from the exertion. Stiles gave him a grateful look then returned his attention to Nico. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, then reluctantly, “but I’m not sure how I can learn more about my spark, it’s not… I- I can’t just, like, pick up a book. Since my injury, I’m kind of stuck with non-book and screen type information.” 

“We can find a way to work around that. Ms. Martin is your current researcher, correct?” Stiles nodded. Nico continued, “I’ll consult with her later, and we’ll figure something out. It’s not like your spark requires written spellwork like a lot of magic users need.” He shrugged in a very matter-of-fact way.

“Sure, but, um,” Stiles said, looking at Derek for a moment and at the hand still on his arm, then he went on, “before we leave here, do you think you could teach me a couple of simple wards I can use on, like, the rentals we might be staying in? Just maybe a basic proximity alert?” Derek’s fingers tightened on his arm for a second, and he was touched that Stiles remembered the conversation they’d had the first day after they’d arrived in Carmel. 

“I don’t know why not,” Nico replied. “I can make up a couple of charms too, if you’d like.” 

Stiles nodded and leaned into Derek. “Might save us some sleepless nights, huh, big guy?” 

Derek nodded and put his arm around him pulling him into his side, and nosed up through the hair at his temple, catching the scent of light sweat, outdoors, and that something uniquely _Stiles_ that always settled him. 

* * *

Stiles was sleeping soundly, although it was still early, the previous day’s activities having caught up to him shortly after dinner. His dad bullied him into bed when he had several jaw-cracking yawns in a few short minutes, and dozed off sitting up, his dish of half finished pie threatening to slide out of his grasp. 

Derek stayed up for awhile, listening to the others chat around him, sharing stories of the last couple of years, some good some bad. When Noah took the opportunity to start telling Cora about the supernatural situation in Beacon Hills, Derek wandered out to the patio, then off a little ways towards the lake shore. He sat on a boulder, listening to the hum of conversation behind him, and stretched his senses to hear Stiles snoring lightly from their shared room.

He was emotionally wrung out, and the last few days had brought memories to the forefront of his mind - the large pack meals, children underfoot, physical closeness. The unexpected pang of seeing Isaac, so at ease in himself and knowing his place in the pack, pressed on the never healing wound of Boyd and Erica’s deaths, and even Jackson’s long absence. They were never far from his thoughts anyways, being here sharing the results of a hunt, laughing together - he had needed them to survive, but they had needed him too. And he had been so young, so scared and alone, he’d told himself there would be time for bonding later, if only they all lived. 

All these things he wished he’d done differently chased themselves around in his mind while the house behind him went quiet and most of the lights clicked off, and he shivered slightly in the damp air. The night was clear, and over his shoulder he could see the waxing crescent moon rising low on the horizon where he knew she would appear to hover for the rest of the night before setting after daylight. 

He gazed at the moon for a long while, feeling the light pull of her increase - in a bit more than a week she’d be full again, Harvest Moon, and most of his pack would be back in Beacon Hills. He and Stiles would be wandering again, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Worry rasped at him when he thought of his sister going back, even with two mature packs currently there stabilizing the territory. 

* * *

“Chilly out here,” Noah leaned against the boulder and held out a bottle of beer to Derek. He took it and raised an eyebrow when he checked the label. Noah shrugged and said, “Peter complained when I put Corona in his fridge, so now I buy this fancy microbrew stuff.”

He took a long pull on his beer and said, “You know it’s long past midnight, son?”

“Yes, not tired.” Derek extended a claw and flicked the cap off the bottle. It was as good a time as any to ask the sheriff how things were back in Beacon Hills, maybe set his mind at ease about his sister and Isaac going back there.

“Things have been quiet, for what they are,” Noah told him, “but I’m not sure how much longer that’ll last. Rafe McCall looped me in on an investigation that’s not gonna sit too well with Scott. I shouldn’t say any more about that. Have you heard anything else from Scott since you left town?” 

“No, just the texts and messages from right after we left town as far as I know. He hasn’t contacted me anyways, not that I’d expect that. He seemed pretty upset about Alpha Vasquez approaching him. I hope that got sorted out.”

“Not exactly,” Noah said. “A few days after you left town, Scott moved out of his mom’s and into the little efficiency apartment above the animal clinic. Mel said he didn’t tell her he was going. He’s been avoiding the alpha and your friend Daniel since he was approached about remedial training. He’s been seen around town, Liam tells me he hasn’t seen much of him but when he does, he doesn’t look good.”

“Not good like how?” Derek asked. 

“Avoiding Liam, avoiding eye contact, his clothes aren’t clean maybe?” Noah replied. “Liam isn’t much of an observer, but he takes direction pretty well. Malia’s a lot better at surveying and she won’t go near him. She said the last time she saw him he yelled at her for breaking up with him and told her she’d probably go feral without his good influence. You can imagine how that went over. As far as anyone can tell, the only two people he’s still speaking to are his mom and Alan Deaton.”

“What does Argent think?”

Noah huffed a slight laugh and took another drink of his beer before answering, “Well, see, Chris and Mel split up not long after Scott moved out, and he’s made himself scarce since. She was pretty mad about his part in bringing in the LaRose pack. Between you and me though, an active Hunter and the mother of an Alpha werewolf? Doomed.”

Derek smirked, and delicately sniffed the air, but he wasn’t subtle enough, and wasn’t that surprised that the sheriff noticed what he was doing.

“Don’t give me the sniff test, son. I’m not jealous. Despite the boys playing parent trap for a decade, that was never gonna happen. Doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for her, and dating Argent didn’t seem like the best plan.”

Derek schooled his expression back to neutral and said slyly, “So it’s still Lydia’s mother then?”

Noah choked on the sip of beer he was in the middle of taking, wiped his mouth and pointed the neck of the bottle at Derek. “I’m not even gonna ask how you know about that. I have a five-year plan. Don’t tell my kid.”

His mouth twitched, and he hid behind his own sip of beer before prompting the man to return to the previous subject, “So, Scott…”

“Yeah,” Noah replied, then paused and looked like he was trying to decide on which piece of it to share next. He continued, “Then last week, Theo asked to join Adina’s pack - Alpha Pecchio, you know - and they accepted him on probation. If he pulls any of his shenanigans, she’ll lower the boom on him.”

Derek met his eyes and noted the look of satisfaction in Noah’s eyes, no doubt reflecting the anger he still held against the chimera.

“So does that mean Liam and Mason are the only ones left in his pack? None of the refugees?” Derek asked. 

“No. None of the refugees. And not even Mason, as far as I can tell. Both Liam and Mason's parents have closed ranks and are keeping them as shielded as they can. Mason didn’t put up any resistance, and he went off to Pomona a few weeks ago. His parents want to keep him out of it completely, but the new emissary I think wants to train him if he plans to come back after college. She says he knows too much to stay ignorant, it would be more dangerous than teaching him properly.”

“Shit,” Derek said, and he worried about the mess he left behind. He didn’t know if he’d ever get past the feeling of duty to Scott.

As if he could read Derek’s mind, Noah said, “Don’t even think about coming back. It’s not your responsibility anymore, if it ever was. We have it in hand. Between Peter, Daniel, and Adina’s Right Hand, Liam’s getting plenty of guidance, and we’ll keep an eye on Scott.”

Noah thought for a moment, then confided, “He’s getting weaker. I’m not even sure how much longer he’ll be an alpha if Liam breaks with him. Hee Sook - that’s Adina’s emissary - tells me that an alpha can lose that and become an omega.”

“That’s what my mother always said. It’s what the family mantra means. ‘Alpha-Beta-Omega, the triskelion’s spiral reminds us we can all rise to one or fall to another,’” he quoted. “The way he’s isolating himself, and with no pack, you could be dealing with a feral alpha, especially if Deaton isn’t providing enough stability.”

“If the good doctor doesn’t get thrown into a cell,” Noah growled.

“Is that a possibility?” Derek asked. 

Noah sighed, then said, “Not possible. Probable. I know I said I shouldn’t say anything, but I’ll tell you that Rafe is working on something there. All I know is it involves antiquities, but it’s big, so maybe keep that to yourself.” 

Derek nodded, but picked at the label of his now empty bottle, thinking over what the sheriff had shared. He was concerned enough to feel the tug of obligation, but enough removed from it to recognize that he could leave it to others. 

He could feel the weight of Noah watching him, but it felt gentle, the pack bonds telling him that the man held only concern for his well-being. 

“Go to bed, son,” Noah said, “at least try to get some rest. I’m gonna do the same, I’m gonna need it to deal with those little munchkins we’ve acquired. Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then grinned at Derek and headed back into the house.

* * *

The next morning at first light, Stiles was plastered up against Derek’s back, but still deeply asleep, so he reluctantly pulled himself away and pulled shorts on, letting himself out quietly to go for a run. He figured he’d need the activity to wake up, having only managed a few hours of sleep. When he opened the door to go outside, he found Isaac waiting to join him, falling into step next to him without a word.

They ran at an easy pace, Isaac’s height and loping pace eating up the distance as easily as Derek’s more deliberate runner’s form. Only once, as they were turning back, did Isaac pause and catch Derek’s eye to tell him, “It feels right. All of us, and you and Cora. It’s good to see you, Derek.” 

Derek gave him a single nod, and felt yet another thread of doubt and shame unwind itself from his heart.

By the time they got back to the house to shower and dress, everybody else was up and Noah and Peter had taken over the kitchen to start on a big bacon and egg breakfast. Stiles was glaring daggers at Peter presumably over the bacon, while Noah took advantage of the stand-off to sneak bites of the store-bought pastries that were meant to accompany the rest of the food.

While they waited, the emissary gave a mini lesson to Stiles and Lydia acted as scribe, tapping out the information in a document on her phone. Nico had laid out several little silk pouches on the table, and was telling Stiles what they contained, as well as how to use them as focus objects to set simple wards in places of temporary residence. There were several little bowls of water sitting in front of him, “It’s safer to practice with than flame, if a little harder to affect,” he said. 

Derek made himself useful by starting another pot of coffee, steeping a mug of green tea while he waited and listening in as Nico described how it felt to draw on energy, either from within or from elements outside of them, to manipulate things like temperature and movement, and demonstrated by changing the temperature in each bowl of water.

Outside, Cora was doing an activity with the twins that seemed to involve a lot of handstands. He stood in the open doorway to the patio and watched his sister show them backward and forward walkovers, then try to corral the boys into doing their own. He sipped his tea as he watched the boys’ wild interpretation of handstands and headstands, while his sister tried to avoid getting kicked or clawed in their excitement. 

Malia and Ramona were sitting on a retaining wall at the edge of the yard, talking quietly while they played a string game that Derek remembered playing with Laura years ago. He moved through the doorway and angled himself towards the two girls, filtering out the conversations around him for a moment so he could hear them. 

“What was her name?” Ramona asked.

“Kylie,” Malia said softly.

“And she was little, like me?” she said, eyes big and hungry for connection. It reached that deep well of loneliness that Derek had, that tied everyone in their little pack together in a bond of understanding, echoed in Malia’s voice when she replied, “Yes, she was seven just like you.” 

He turned around and left them to their heart-to-heart, unconsciously seeking out his own strongest connections for comfort. Maybe their losses weren’t the most ideal foundation to build a pack upon, but as fractured as they all could have stayed, he could now readily see the contrast between the frantic pack building he did for survival’s sake, and the one they were forging now, which felt so much more like the one he knew as a child. 

* * *

The pack demolished breakfast, Lydia left the room to watch a lecture, and Malia and Peter took the kids back outside, leaving Cora’s original pack, along with Stiles, Noah, and Derek at the table. Stiles turned to Cora and asked, “So is this a new pack, or since it’s a Hale pack is it kind of OG?”

Cora furrowed her brow for a moment, then replied, “I mean, I’m a Hale, so…” she shrugged. “Why does it matter?”

“Well, with everything happening so fast,” Stiles said, “I was wondering about a treaty.”

Cora looked at him, perplexed, then turned to Derek. “Treaty?” she asked. 

Nico was still scraping up the last bits of his breakfast, and he scoffed, “A treaty? Whatever would we need one of those for?”

“Well, you know, to broker peace, or, um, the usual reasons? I know Argent prepared one for the new pack that moved to town.”

“Did they sign it?” Nico asked, and Derek couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or incredulity in his voice. 

“I assume so,” Stiles replied, he looked at Derek, but all he knew was what Stiles did, that Argent had drawn one up for the Pecchio pack. He wondered what Chris would have done if they declined to sign, and whether he should ask Peter about it.

“Kiddo,” Noah said to Stiles, “a pack/hunter treaty would be unenforceable with law enforcement or courts since you’d need to expose the supernatural to do it. It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.” 

“So why do they exist then? Why would the packs that came to Beacon Hills sign them with Chris? If they even did. What would Chris do if they didn’t?” Stiles said, echoing Derek’s earlier thoughts.

Isaac answered, “Some packs aren’t above using the Hunters’ own stick to beat them with, but our previous pack didn’t have any, only some ally agreements with other supernatural packs or families, right Cora?”

Cora nodded.

“I think mom had a treaty with the Argents,” Derek said, “I don’t remember much about it except that it was a formality. She and dad argued about it, dad said it was pageantry for Deucalion’s summit and just because the Argents wanted to make their own rules didn’t mean we had to humor them. I never made one once I became the alpha. Not that it would have protected us any better than it protected Deucalion, or our family.”

“So they’re completely worthless,” Stiles asked, but it was more of a statement.

Derek winced, still thinking of heated discussions his parents had about how to deal with Gerard after he’d killed Deuc’s cohort and many of his own hunters. But he’d never really stopped to think critically about the treaties before now, and realized that, without a good pack adviser, he’d probably have signed any kind of treaty Chris had demanded, he was so desperate to make them safer.

Nico folded his hands on the table, and tilted his head, considering the answer, then said, “It’s not so much that they’re worthless, I suppose there could be some kind of token value, it’s just not a common thing. In peaceful areas you don’t have much of a hunter presence, and the hunters that happen to live there are “code abiding” for whatever that’s worth. In areas with more conflict, sometimes those hunters insist on a treaty, for all the good it does.”

“So this brings me back to my original question,” Stiles said, “if they’re not worth anything, why do packs sign them?”

“I’ll let you think about that one…” Nico said.

Stiles frowned and said, “The hunters who require them would see the simple refusal as an act of aggression.”

“Bingo. And with hunters descended from a four century legacy steeped in speciesism and making up their own rules?” 

“Huh.”

“Regardless,” the brujo continued, “we’ll inform Chris Argent that we’re there, after we arrive. I plan to call the Oak-Seer and Emissary Park this afternoon. If the Hunter requests a treaty, we will have to consider our next actions, but I’m inclined to say the so-called Hale Treaty that your mother signed should still stand.”

“And I’ll make my own calls with Alphas Pecchio and Vasquez,” Cora confirmed. “We won’t anticipate hunter conflict, but we’re not unprepared.”

“My advice to you as you’re traveling in unfamiliar areas?” Nico said, turning to Derek, “Carry a human weapon. Because that type of hunter won’t wait for you to be in claw range to verify that the kill is justified, or even whether or not the target is non-human.”

Noah gave Nico an assessing look, “That’s why you asked about his shooting earlier.”

Nico turned his hands up in an affirmative, and told Noah, “Crossbow’s my weapon, and I’m good with a staff,” he said, waving toward Stiles’ own staff, “but they’re hard to conceal.” 

Derek’s gaze drifted to Cora when she reached behind her back. She withdrew her hand to lay a gleaming combat knife on the table. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, and in response, she lifted her foot and placed it against the side of his chair, then plucked a small utility blade from her boot. His eyebrows rose even higher at the sight of that one, and he asked, “Is that the one from…”

Cora gave him a sad smile, and said, “Sure is. Peter gave it to me when I started learning knife skills with Laura. It was in the treehouse that night when I hid. I’ve kept it with me always since then.”

They were all silent while she replaced the weapons in her boot and her back sheath, then Isaac broke the tension by flicking out his claws and showing fang.

“I’m still claws-and-teeth only, but I learned to shoot,” he said.

“Such violent young people,” Noah said. “I’m not quite sure if I should be proud of your resourcefulness, or go off and cry.”

Stiles clapped him on the back and replied, “Both, pops. Probably both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end of the year, and I squeaked one last chapter in for y'all. Happy New Year! 
> 
> What started as an idea that claimed I could do in 30k, hoped I could do in 50k, has grown into this little storytelling voyage that's approaching 100k with still very much more to come. Like what the hell is going on in Beacon Hills? Does Derek even want to know?
> 
> I cannot overstate how welcome all your comments have been, since moving into this cave where I never see people. Writing this, and the interactions here in the comment section, has been one of my little lifelines during the pandemic. So thank you all from the bottom of my little coal nugget heart.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C/W: ableist language, detail in end notes.

The little ones were sitting up around the table while Malia taught them to play ‘Go Fish,’ having recruited Stiles to play with them, and Lydia cuddled up against his side with her head on his shoulder, smiling at Stiles’ and Malia’s attempts to trash talk each other while keeping their language friendly and kid-safe. Derek knew the three of them had missed each other keenly, in spite of near-daily video calls, and was glad of this chance for them to spend time together before setting off in different directions again.

Noah and Peter were chatting with Nico and Cora about ‘alpha boot camp,’ and what kind of training that entailed. It should have been a relaxed conversation, but some part of it was keeping Derek on edge, and although he hadn’t yet gotten a read off his uncle, he could feel that Noah was also maintaining a certain kind of alert intensity. His sister kept darting little restless and tension-filled glances at her emissary, which he seemed not to notice, and he continued to converse as if nothing was amiss. And yet, the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck began to stand up around the same time as Peter’s expression sharpened to focus on Nico, like the apex predator he was.

Whatever he was expecting to happen, as his churning thoughts started to tilt towards self-recrimination over the trust they’d extended uncritically, he was not anticipating what Nico said next.

“Stiles Stilinski. You know,” he said, with a voice studiously casual as he turned to look across the room at him, “I studied you before becoming Cora’s brujo.” He paused, then added, “The boy who defeated a nogitsune. Fascinating. I’d be curious to know how much you think was the fox, and how much was you.”

The emissary lobbed the words into the middle of the group with an incongruous musing tone, and they detonated like a hand grenade. Lydia sat up straight in her chair and swiveled to pin the brujo with a look of pure outrage, but Stiles froze and paled, and the musty scent of anxiety and shame started rising off of him, his emotions a blast of white noise in Derek’s inner ear. It made his fingers itch to form claws, his throat tighten to roar, but all he did was dig a claw into his arm where the others couldn’t see. Pain kept you human, a dysfunction he hadn’t needed to fall back on in a long time.

Malia stood on no such social niceties, her playing cards scattering across the table when she stood, already in her beta shift and turned towards the brujo and snarled savagely. Caleb and Cody clapped their hands over their ears and started crying, their cries escalating almost immediately to howls.

For a moment, angry but controlled chaos swept the room, punctuated by Ramona, who turned red-tinged eyes on the room at large, and took her brothers by the hands and pulled them under the dining room table, pulling the chairs in behind them. The two little boys stifled their sobs instantly, a bleak reminder of what they’d endured only a few short months ago.

Stiles rose from his seat and left the room with Lydia on his heels. The banshee didn’t even need to look back into the room for it to be clear how incensed she was. When Derek went to follow the two of them, Noah held a hand out in restraint, stopping just short of touching the furious werewolf. He didn’t like being held back, but he understood why Noah wanted them to have their privacy for a moment, because out of all of them present, those two, three if you count Noah as he did, were the ones who suffered most from the machinations of the fox.

After a few seconds, Malia moved around the table, still showing her fangs to Nico, and followed the others just far enough to station herself like a Centurion at the opening of the hallway, facing back into the living area, eyes still burning with her beta shift, a quiet rattling growl leaving her continuously. 

Nico watched them go, and when Derek turned disbelieving eyes on Cora, she was also looking down the hallway where Stiles and Lydia had gone, a carefully impassive expression on her face, but he could hear her heart beating wildly.

The entire room was starting to stink of anger and confusion, and Peter got up and stalked over to the sliding glass door, shoving it open with a bang before turning back to the room and standing with his arms folded together like a second sentry. It didn’t escape Derek’s notice that this location placed Peter strategically between the children and the rest of them, and directly across from Malia.

Noah was fairly vibrating with fury, and turned his most authoritative stare on Nico. “You, outside with me, now.”

Nico rose elegantly from the chair where he had been lounging, when Noah turned and swept the room with a critical eye. “Cora, you too,” he said, but his assessment didn’t stop there as his first few steps took him to stand in front of Isaac. “Lahey?”

Cora spoke up then, “He didn’t know Nico was going to bring that up.”

Derek stiffened with the confirmation that Cora knew what the plan was, whether it was the emissary’s idea or hers, and that she had given the go ahead. She was responsible, and he felt the weight of what he didn’t want to call betrayal squeezing at his heart.

“Fine, then Isaac, you’re on child duty,” the sheriff said. He seemed to be physically arranging people to give them a sense of increased security, and Isaac dutifully moved over to the dining room table, pausing in front of the older wolf only long enough to gain his tacit permission, before crouching down to crawl under the table at the end opposite from the children.

The sheriff nodded once and proceeded out the door Peter was guarding, the emissary giving away nothing in his body language, nor his heartbeat, having likely masked it just as he asked his question. But under her bravado, Cora smelled ashamed, and her heart rate continued to give the lie to her controlled outward aspect.

Before she passed through the door to go with Noah, Peter stopped her with a hand to her shoulder and said firmly, “It’s not a fatal error, wolfling, but it was a needless error. Learn from it.” He raised his hand to her cheek for a second, making eye contact until she nodded, then dropped it to her shoulder again and pushed her slightly towards the open door.

Derek sat there frozen to his seat with no meaningful way to take action, while the flurry of what felt like fruitless damage control continued around him. He could hear the soft murmur of Lydia’s voice, but nothing from Noah, and he realized the brujo must have used magic to keep the conversation private. When he tried to tune into Lydia and Stiles, even though he could hear their voices, the words were muddied enough that he wondered if Stiles had somehow learned to do the same over the last couple of days.

The cubs, who had been laughing and chattering childishly over the card game only moments ago, were still in the way that only children who have been exposed to danger too many times can be, their sister sitting watchfully in front of them, Isaac sitting a few feet away from them under the table, projecting an air of calm steadiness but not seeking to interfere with the girl’s position.

Physical confrontation was easier for Derek — point him toward a flesh and blood enemy and he could use his size and speed to threaten, tooth and claw to defend his pack. But in a game of words, he was always going to be at a disadvantage, especially when those words are coming from someone who doesn’t care about the outcome except to win. He hoped that wasn’t the case with the brujo, that he hadn’t deceived them all.

The sound barrier around the emissary and Noah dropped and a few seconds later Nico opened the door to come back into the room. He was alone, and although still just as composed as he was when he followed Noah out the door, he was less smug.

Peter stepped directly in front of him and said, “We had an emissary who liked to play games. Who knows why. But then, our family burned. And whether his games contributed to our great losses is a riddle I have yet to solve, but have not forgotten.” He flicked his claws out and studied them, before raising his head and staring at Nico with eyes that burned blue with his anger. “Don’t think for a minute that I will stand by and let anyone attack us, even if the attack comes from within.”

Nico nodded once, then moved back into the living area, as Derek finally rose from his own seat and, after exchanging a look with Malia to confirm she would remain in position, walked over to stand beside Peter, where he was looking out the patio door to Noah and Cora.

They could both hear the man talking to her, now that the sound bubble had dropped. Derek glanced back at Nico, who was sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap as if waiting. He thought that if they could hear what the sheriff was saying, when they hadn’t been able to do so before, it was deliberate on the brujo’s part. He could easily have sustained their privacy.

“Do you know how you build loyalty, Alpha?” Noah said to her, invoking her position in the pack. She didn’t answer, and Derek could read the conflict in her body language, how she straightened her spine at ‘alpha,’ but shrugged like a child at the question itself. Noah waited until she finally looked up at him, before he answered his own question. “Kindness, Cora. Your own loyalty. You look out for them. You look at their lives and find ways to make it better, safer. Happier if you can.”

Derek’s ire at his sister faded slightly, remembering his own many missteps with his young pack. In this familial setting, it had been easy to forget she was not quite twenty-one years old, even younger than he was when the alpha power came to him. And even if the training she received had been excellent, it was no substitute for experience. He wondered if there was any training at all that could have prepared her for all of the history and trauma contained in this group.

Noah raised his head, meeting Peter’s eyes, then glanced to Derek with a serious expression as if to acknowledge that they were witnessing his words, before returning his attention to Cora.

“You and your advisor damaged the trust, and you don’t have a history of that trust to fall back on. You’ve made things very difficult for yourself unnecessarily. This pack was ready to follow you, with everything they had to give, but now you’ll have to earn that. I can tell you from experience that it’s far easier to keep trust freely offered, than to gain it back after you’ve damaged it. Unfortunately, you’re going to gain that experience the hard way.”

He paused long enough that Cora finally looked up again and said quietly, “Yes, sir.”

Noah inhaled deeply, looking up at the sky and appearing to gather his thoughts. Something deeply emotional crossed his face that echoed in Derek’s thoughts, and he found himself holding his breath at what the sheriff would say next. When the man exhaled, Derek did too, and heard his uncle beside him do the same. 

“Cora,” he said, “I can try to look at this objectively, reason around your lack of field experience, or your desire for more information, maybe try to unravel your possible motives, but at the end of it all, and before everything else, I’m Stiles’ father, and your psychological experiment hurt my son.”

He looked up at the patio window again. “I think,” and motioned to Cora to turn and look before he continued. “You need to see that the way you went about this hurt your brother too. And your uncle. I know he doesn’t like to show when his feelings are hurt, but I can assure you, he feels it. You played your hand before you knew the loyalties of this pack. Every one of us would lay down our life to protect Stiles, and each other. Remember that.”

“I’m so sorry, Sheriff,” Cora said, once it was clear Noah was through talking.

He answered her, “Thanks kiddo, but you know I’m not the one who needs to know that,” and he reached out and took her gently by the arm, steering her back inside through the doorway and past both Derek and Peter.

Nico still had the traces of what Derek would consider arrogance on his face, which rubbed him the wrong way, especially when he turned to them and said, “Would you like to hear what I’ve observed?”

Noah immediately cut him off. “Your observations are irrelevant. This so-called learning experience was not worth the pain you caused, or the cracks it put in the foundation of this pack.” 

As the sheriff finished speaking, but before anyone else could add anything, Stiles came back into the room, in less time than Derek had expected, even knowing him as well as he did. Lydia was at his back, and he still held her hand clasped in his when he walked straight up to where Nico was sitting, ignoring everyone else in the room.

“What was that, witch?” he said, his words coming out in an angry snarl, “Did you think that would be amusing? Did you just want to go sniffing around in the worst months of my life or was it more of a ‘ridicule the retard and see how he reacts’ kind of thing?”

Malia growled and rounded the table where the children were still hiding, once again placing herself between them and the conflict. “Stiles, don’t call yourself that,” she said. She still hadn’t shifted back to her human face, and her words came out muzzy around the mouthful of sharp teeth. She turned slightly and displayed them again to Nico with her own snarl.

Stiles accepted Malia’s words with a glance, then turned back to the brujo and continued, “I am stronger than anything you could ever say to me. I didn’t defeat the nogitsune. And I especially didn’t do it all by myself. If you learned nothing else from ‘studying’ me, you should have learned that. You want to know what I learned? I learned you can’t defeat a nogitsune, you survive it. You endure and endure and endure. You remember the people you love, and you just keep going until they find you and bring you back.”

Nico said absolutely nothing in response, instead he looked satisfied, which was completely nonsensical in Derek’s opinion, and he knew he would be having his own words with the man, as soon as he’d spoken with his sister.

As Stiles turned away from Nico, Cora stepped up to apologize, but Stiles held up the hand that wasn’t still clasped in Lydia’s.

“I didn’t come out here for any, um, not any, no talking about it. I don’t want to, right now. I just wanted to look him in the eyes and tell him that I won’t let him come at me like that.” He turned back and leaned down to face Nico again, his lips curled back from his teeth as he spit, “And I won’t stand around like nothing if you pull a stunt like this on anyone else in my pack. We take care of each other. Is that clear, brujo?” He straightened and looked once more at Cora, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Then without waiting for her response, he turned and left the room again, Lydia with him, her hand still in his.

Derek felt left out, he was glad for Stiles’ sake Lydia was staying close, but disappointed that he wasn’t the person Stiles turned to. And he was also slightly ashamed about being disappointed — he knew that it was natural for Stiles and Lydia to turn to one another in response to the old wounds gouged up by his sister and her emissary. It was irrational, and a little selfish, and he had to be better than that.

Derek knew tonight would be bad.

He slumped where he stood, dejected that their happy reunion had been marred by this confrontation, letting himself feel the weight of sadness for just a moment, before deciding to go talk to Cora.

Before he did that, he went to check on Stiles and Lydia. They were in the room he and Stiles were sharing as expected, curled up together on the bed watching cartoons on Stiles’ laptop. They paused the video and looked up at him. “Sorry to bother you,” he said.

“You’re not bothering us, come on in,” Lydia was the one who answered him.

He moved into the room but stayed standing next to the door. “Avatar?” he asked, recognizing the soundtrack.

Stiles shrugged and said, “The Last Airbender, yeah. Comfort netflix, you should join us.”

Derek smiled slightly, feeling better knowing his company was wanted. Then he shook his head. “I’m going to see if Cora wants to go — somewhere — doesn’t matter where.” 

“You have more to say to her,” Lydia said, her expression was tight and her voice was shrewd. “Is this fixable?” Stiles was watching him carefully, as if they’d already been discussing the question before it was asked.

Derek opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and looked around the room for a moment. Finally, he looked back to Lydia and Stiles and answered, “I really hope so.”

Stiles nodded as if the response satisfied him, then started the video again. It felt like a dismissal, but Derek knew Stiles well enough by now to understand that he was curt when he was emotionally overloaded. It was one thing they had in common.

By the time he went back out into the main room, however, his sister was nowhere to be seen. Probably licking her wounds, he thought. The living area had cleared, the tension having driven everybody to their room, probably, except for Malia, who was at the dining table with her drawing pad.

He paused and looked over her shoulder at what looked like another concept drawing for a landscape, and it crossed his mind briefly that she was very talented and he should ask Peter what they were doing to help her use that talent.

“Derek,” she said, interrupting the little side-trip his thoughts had taken.

“Hmm?” he answered and refocused on his cousin. She was frowning, the way she did when she wrestled with something she considered human, usually ethics that she had to reconcile with her instincts.

“People are allowed to make mistakes, aren’t they?” she asked, even if he knew it wasn’t the real question.

“Of course,” he said, then waited for her to continue.

“Then how do we decide which mistakes we’re supposed to forgive?”

He stared at her for a moment, knowing that was the question they were all asking themselves right now, and he had no answers. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and shrugged one shoulder before saying, “I don’t know, Malia. I think a lot of it depends on intent. And then the rest... well, you’ll have to figure out for yourself what you’re willing to forgive, or just live with, because I really don’t know.”

“Are you okay?” she asked him, taking him off guard for a moment. He’d been so concerned with everyone else, he’d barely given a thought to himself.

“I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully, then turned toward the door and added, “I’m going to get some air.”

Malia didn’t reply, already returning to her sketches by the time he walked out, sliding the door closed behind him.

* * *

Isaac approached as he was sitting out on what he’d started to think of as his boulder. Derek watched him walk off the trail in the dark and make his way easily across the water by way of a series of stepping stones. His wolf eyes shone briefly to be able to see the rocks more easily, until he pulled himself up to settle in next to Derek.

“Hey,” he said, and Derek tilted his head, and went back to watch the ripples the breeze made on the surface of the water. It wasn’t that Derek was trying to make it difficult for Isaac to talk to him, but old habits die hard, and the confrontation weighed on him in more ways than just being angry or even defensive.

“I guess I should have brought tea or some of the leftover pie maybe,” Isaac started again. “Y’know, conversation lube or something.”

Derek turned to look at the boy taking in his relaxed pose, leaning back on his hands, a half-smile on his face. ‘Man,’ he corrected himself internally, wondering about how much of Isaac’s new confidence was the formal training, and how much was just the passage of time. 

Isaac turned away then, and spoke into the cool morning air as he looked out across the lake, coming right to the point, “Cora’s really scared, you know. She’d probably rip my throat out for telling you.”

“With her teeth,” Derek murmured, almost to himself, and Isaac grinned.

“Yup. That’s gotta be some sort of Hale thing, hunh?” he said, and bumped Derek with his elbow. 

Derek smiled, and looked down at his hands. “It was a Laura thing.”

“Hmmm. Camden used to say ‘how can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat,’ everytime he made me a peanut butter sandwich.”

Derek huffed a little laugh, “Those really aren’t the same.”

“Yeah, well, I got a peanut butter sandwich every day.”

He smiled again and elbow bumped him back.

“You’re different, you know,” Isaac said, then when Derek raised an eyebrow at him, he added, “Not that different, I think you might talk even less than you used to.” He paused and looked at his face, then said, “But you smile more, which is kind of amazing considering everything I heard happened back home, after I left with Chris.”

The quiet settled between them for a few minutes, easier than it had been, and he returned to what Isaac had said earlier. 

“Why is she scared?” he said. 

Isaac looked at him incredulously, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t believe Derek was asking him the question. And yes, Derek thought, it was kind of a stupid question, but what he was really asking was, what was scaring her, and what could he do to help. Isaac took the question at face value though. 

“Oh come on, Derek. She’s twenty years old and now she has this huge pack. She went from an adventure with her two freaky pals to The Alpha, with kids and everything, in a day.

“It’s not an excuse, Isaac, she’s responsible for her decisions. She hurt Stiles,” he said sourly. Everything reminded him of his decisions, and how much he’d paid for the bad ones. It would be a dull pain for the rest of his life, he thought morosely.

“You’re right, she did. The thing I remember about Stiles though, is he’ll come out swinging.”

“Then what? Since Stiles can defend himself, it’s no big deal?” Derek snapped at him. “He should just take it? From his own pack? If there’s no blood it’s fine? I can’t believe you of all people would say something like that. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, you’re right, he doesn’t. I said that all wrong, the whole thing was fucked up, no excuses. I’m glad he has so many people standing with him on this. I think Cora needs somebody to stand with her too, because it was a pretty big error and it’s going to be hard for her to make up for it,” Isaac replied. “I know she’ll want to make it right, because I know she has good intentions.”

Derek deflated a little and nodded, glad that somebody was on his sister’s side, somebody other than that idiot emissary.

Isaac kept talking, “I really didn’t mean that he deserved to be attacked, and I want to say that I did notice that he’s still recovering from the injury and shouldn’t have to be fighting anyone at all, especially not his own pack. I didn’t mean to make light of that, or to suggest this was nothing but a bit of verbal sparring. He’s still the same guy though. He pushed back hard, and you all leapt to his defense even before that, which ironically, seems to be exactly what Cora was trying to learn when she had Nico poke at him.”

“It was a terrible plan, and it hurt the pack,” cutting through all the words to the heart of the matter.

“You’re not wrong,” Isaac said, “but I’m pretty sure she knows that now, and as soon as she’s done feeling terrible, she’ll apologize. I’m just asking you to cut her a little slack, not as our alpha, but as your sister. This is literally the first time since she became the alpha that she’s actually had to be the alpha, and yeah she fucked up. But we’ll fix it. And I intend to help her with that.”

Derek let the empathetic words tumble around in his mind for a bit, a tiny bit of his thoughts strayed to his relief that Cora had somebody in her pack who was so loyal. But he kept picking at one of the threads he didn’t understand.

“Nico is not as young as he seems, is he?” Derek said. 

“No.” Isaac didn’t elaborate.

“Then why—” he wasn’t sure what he meant to ask, and he let the question trail off. 

“If he’s experienced, why didn’t he tell her it was a bad idea? Maybe it was his idea in the first place and why would he suggest it? Why would either of them want to test bonds that are brand new?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “All of that.”

Isaac sighed, like it was an old complaint. “Nico just likes to poke things. He doesn’t usually take it this far though, most of it is just him being a nosy idiot.”

Derek’s look was sharp, silently asking Isaac to continue. He sighed again and looked back toward the house, no doubt wondering if alpha hearing was strong enough to listen to their conversation. 

“Look,” his tone was part reluctance, part exasperation, “how do you think a twenty year old new alpha pulled an emissary with his kind of juice?” and Derek looked at him in question, “Powerful. Nico is really, really powerful, like sorcerer level. He had twenty-five years as an ‘assistant’ emissary in his last pack and never got moved up. He’s— well, remember when you got here, Cora said he was ‘meddlesome?’ Not the greatest trait for an emissary of a complicated pack, not that we knew we’d have one of those.”

“Should I be worried about my sister now?” he bristled, remembering how easily Jennifer Blake misled them all.

Isaac tracked the thought uncannily, “No more than reason. He’s not like the darach, he’s not malignant. And his power is the natural kind, really developed, but all his.” He paused for a moment, like he was finding a better description. “He’s pretty charismatic, obviously, but completely tone deaf, he likes to know things, and he doesn’t mind creating conflict if it gets him information he wants. And he’s surprisingly insightful, which makes him really good, or bad, depending on your perspective, at finding people’s weaknesses. Remind you of anyone we know?”

“Peter,” Derek said immediately.

“Stiles,” Isaac said. And finally Derek cracked a real smile, fond and irritated at the same time as he often was when he thought of Stiles. A small part of his worry for Cora bled away at Isaac’s words. Not that he’d do the witch the courtesy of forgiving and forgetting anytime soon, but at least he might not have to worry about Cora’s safety, and there were others now who could advise her, like Noah, the new Beacon Hills alpha, and even Peter. She wouldn’t have to rely exclusively on her emissary for leadership advice.

Derek stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans, then gripped Isaac’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said. Isaac looked up at him in surprise, then smiled, a little of the old bashful boy showing through for just a second. 

Then he grew serious again, and said, “If the emissary is a real problem, I won’t look the other way.”

Isaac gave him a short nod of agreement, and answered, “To be perfectly clear, I don’t think I’d have chosen him for us as we are now, but I don’t think he’s one of the bad guys. In peacetime he’d just be a pain in my ass, don’t give me that look! It was only one time!” he said, when Derek grinned at the double entendre. He went on, serious again, “I’m glad we’re going back to BH for awhile though. I think when it was just us three it was fine, but with a pack this size, we need better guidance. Your pack pulled together, like, no hesitation. You did that Derek, you made a good pack, and we shouldn't have tested it the way we did. I won't let him mess that up either."

“Okay,” Derek said, relief coloring his tone, both that Isaac was thinking critically about the problem, and also that it seemed he didn’t expect Derek to be the one who came back to sort it all out. He turned away then, and made his way across the stepping stones, up the trail to the house, and to the room he shared with Stiles. Lydia went back to her room for the night, leaving the two of them alone. 

“This has been great,” Stiles said, only half-sarcastically, once Derek had stripped down to his boxer-briefs and climbed into bed, “but I’m looking forward to getting back to our road trip.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and closed his eyes, fatigue dragging him down into a restless sleep.

* * *

The nightmare that night was quiet, as was the panic attack that came after. The sound barely traveled past the room, but Derek was awake almost immediately, having been only lightly asleep and intermittently awake for most of the night. He'd left a table lamp on, even though it would interfere with his own rest, so Stiles wouldn’t wake in total darkness. Stiles hadn't had more than a handful of really bad nights since they'd left but after the challenge of this evening, it had an air of inevitability.

He’d tried to wake him each time his breathing went thin and thready, but by four in the morning, he was weary enough to be sleeping more deeply, and missed the signs of Stiles falling into yet another cycle until the panting turned to rigid muscles, clenched teeth, a high whistling whine. Fully alert again, Derek struggled to wake Stiles, who stayed locked in the distress of his nightmare. 

There was no way to know which horror featured in his dreams that night, as if it mattered which trauma his mind re-inflicted on him. And although it was a fair bet that Nico and Cora’s ill-conceived test was the trigger, there were still an array of scarring events that clamored for head space on a bad night, and they’d discovered a sort of futility in trying to avoid them short of just not sleeping at all.

Lydia let herself into the room, and Derek looked up when he heard Malia in the hallway, watching them through the doorway, nostrils flaring at the scent of turmoil. Lydia moved to the side of the bed and when they were finally able to get him to open his eyes, Derek smoothed away the tears on his cheeks, and Lydia was sitting on the edge of their bed, one hand on his arm and the other cradling the back of his head.

She wasn’t the only pack member who felt his misery, the pack bonds binding them together in a way that each of them could sense the swirl of emotion. Malia remained stock still in the doorway, and then Peter was there too. And as Stiles began to quietly descend into a post dream state panic attack, Noah appeared and pushed both of them back out of the doorway pulling the door closed behind them, leaving only Lydia and Derek in the room with Stiles. 

He raised a listening ear to the door, hearing Malia growling outside the door. Her anger hadn’t cooled at all, and Peter was talking with her carefully, recognizing her bond with Stiles and that she had no history with Cora. “She is family though, and I hope you’ll give her the chance to set things right,” he told her, “but you can be as pissed as you want at the brujo.”

Malia answered with another growl, “I want to rip his throat out,” which made Peter chuckle, and even Derek smiled as his mind automatically supplied the ‘with my teeth.’

Probably knowing Derek was still alert to their presence, he said, “I’ll be sure no one bothers you for the rest of the night unless he asks for them.” 

Derek didn’t give him an answer, knowing none was expected, and turned his full attention back to Stiles. 

Stiles' eyes were squeezed shut, his hands in fists pressed into his face over his mouth, his breath coming in barely audible huffs, too short inhales not providing enough oxygen. The attack was so quiet, without enhanced senses that gave away his racing heart rate, or the tang of his sweat, it would have been easy to assume he was fine.

Lydia lifted the blanket and climbed into the bed opposite, and Derek turned Stiles’ unresisting body from his back to his side and then pulled him up to sit between the vee of his legs, his back against Derek’s chest, his arms wrapped around him so Stiles could feel the rise and fall of his own breathing. Lydia turned to face Stiles at his side and curled herself up under his chin, forehead pressed to the curve of his shoulder.

“Come on Stiles,” she spoke to him soothingly, “We've got you. Smell my hair, okay? I got a new shampoo, can you focus on that for me, sweetheart? Can you feel Derek breathing?” 

She went on like this, in the same calm, sweet tone, telling him to listen to her voice and feel their hands on him. Stiles’ breathing stuttered in and out of rhythm, as he tried to do as she suggested, but Derek had never seen a panic attack that was this sustained, and if it weren’t for Lydia’s presence, he thought he would be panicking too.

Maybe he was. “Should we get his dad?” he whispered. Of all the feelings he hated, feeling helpless was right near the top of the list.

Lydia shook her head, “Give it a little longer, it hasn’t been more than a couple of minutes. Just keep doing what you’re doing, you’re doing fine, Derek.” 

Lydia was correct, as she usually was, and Stiles regained control quickly after that, although the attack left him still and quiet, pale and teary-eyed. When Lydia moved to get out of the bed, Stiles reached out and gripped the sleeve of her nightshirt.

“Stay,” he said, “need my pack.”

They all three rearranged themselves until they could lie down again. Derek could still hear Malia in the hallway, grumbling to herself, and the scratch of her pencil on paper.

He raised head and called very softly to his cousin, “Malia, come in if you want…” and he’d barely finished the sentence before she slipped through the door, pushing it closed behind her. She hurried over to the bed and climbed in, curling around Lydia’s back, curving an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her neck. Derek felt like he should be more surprised by this development, but found that he wasn’t at all.

And finally, they all slept, curled around each other, safe and consoled in a way Derek couldn’t remember having for a decade. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I might have accidentally shipped Malia/Lydia. Oh well. 
> 
> This chapter kind of came out of nowhere. I had more than half of it written, when my brain suddenly said, “Cora is only twenty, even younger than Derek was when he became the alpha.” Then the plot bunnies ate me. Then I had to remodel the whole chapter, add several sections, and push a bunch of stuff onto the next chapter. /le sigh/
> 
> Sooooo many revisions later...
> 
> Travel note: One of the things I love about Lake Tahoe are all the huge boulders that you can climb out to, some of them big enough for two people, or to lay on (wear your sunscreen!) If you’re curious, do an image search for “boulders in Lake Tahoe.” 
> 
> C/W Notes: Stiles refers to himself as “retarded” to make a point, and Malia protests the word.


	19. Chapter 19

Derek woke early to the sound of Malia whispering his name. He was curled protectively around Stiles who was sound asleep and had turned toward him as he slept. Lydia was also still asleep, and Malia was sitting up against the headboard. He wondered briefly if she had been awake the entire time, which seemed to be confirmed when she whispered, “Cora’s up, I just heard her go out to the kitchen. Everyone else is still sleeping.”

He groaned under his breath and rolled away carefully so he wouldn’t wake Stiles or Lydia, then stood and pulled on some sweats, and grabbed up a shirt and his running shoes on the way out of the bedroom.

Cora was running the espresso machine when he finally made it out to the kitchen, not much more awake after a quick stop in the bathroom. She was dressed, hair tucked back in a headband, and when the machine shut off, she turned with her cup and looked Derek up and down.

“You going on a run with me like that?” she said, before he could say anything, then held up the cup in offer. He nodded, and she turned back to the machine, while he went to the cupboard for a packet of instant hot chocolate. He used hot water from the faucet, then waited while his sister dumped two shots of espresso in the mug with a disgusted look on her face, then he topped it off with whipping cream and drank the whole thing in one go without taking a breath. 

Cora shuddered. “Nothing about that even resembled real chocolate or coffee,” she said, and sipped at her plain espresso. 

“I hate coffee,” he said. “We gonna run or not?” 

She shrugged and threw the rest of the espresso back, then headed out the door, not waiting for him to follow. Derek caught up with his sister easily, and set a punishing pace — if either of them had been human — out to the bike path, following the road for a couple of miles down to the beginning of the East Shore Trail that picked up just on the edge of town. 

It was a wide three mile long activity trail, with room for pedestrians, runners, bikes and dog walkers, that ran all the way down to the Sand Harbor Beach on the east side of the Lake. Even at this hour with daylight just broken, there were quite a few early runners but the little beach, when they reached it, was quiet. They picked their way over and around the boulders at the far end to the next tiny cove and walked right up to the water’s edge, where it lapped quietly at the sandy shore. 

They’d made it all the way down here, some five or six miles, without either of them speaking a word to one another, and without the warm camaraderie of the other night. He hadn’t had a plan for talking to her, he just knew he needed to do it. 

While he was trying to find words to start, Cora took the question out of his hands by turning to face him as she said, “Okay, I’m ready, whatever you have to say, just say it.” 

“I—” he paused, and she watched him, her arms folded over her chest, hunched in on herself, her face tight with something sad and defensive. But looking at her, he found himself again at a loss for words, torn between needing her to understand the hurt she’d caused, and wishing just once for something to be simple. 

He moved back across the sand to sit on a rock, and after a moment, Cora came and sat facing him on her own rock. 

Derek leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them and looked out across the lake before he spoke. “Stiles tried to make all of us promise to, to kill him, if he, if anything ever took him over like that again.” His voice was flat even as he stumbled over the words, and although he didn’t look at Cora, he heard the way she jolted when he said it. “That thing,” he continued, “it used his body to kill a lot of people gruesomely, while he was in it, helpless and watching. It didn’t let him sleep. Even after it let him go, it was still draining him, still connected by his spark, still making him watch everything it did.”

“Derek…” Cora whispered.

“You took the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, Cora, and you used it as a strategy, to test us. I had no idea you could be so cruel.” 

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t look over to see her reaction, so after a moment he went on. “I don’t know what, exactly, he dreams about when he has those nightmares. He doesn’t always tell me. But sometimes, I know he’s back there, locked inside his own body while someone else does horrific things using his hands and wearing his face. And I would do  _ anything _ to be able to protect him from having to relive that.” 

“I should have done it differently,” Cora replied. 

“You shouldn’t have done it at all!” He raised his voice, hardly believing that was her response after everything that Noah had said to her, everything he just said, the anguish she must have felt through the pack bonds the night before. 

“I had to know!” she shouted back, “I had to  _ see. _ When Deucalion and the Darach came for us, nobody could work together, and every time we fought we all separated into little groups. We turned on each other!” 

“But I don’t understand,” he said, almost imploring her, “what could having your emissary attack one of our pack possibly tell you that you couldn’t have learned by talking to us?” 

“I needed to know if you all would defend him.” 

“Cora,” he said, and his voice broke a little on her name as he stared at her. “You’re supposed to be the alpha, you’re the last line of defense, standing between them and whatever would hurt them. You failed your own test. And I failed your test too.” 

“No— how— no. You all came together for him.”

“I froze, Cora,” he said, barely breathed it, such was his guilt at watching everyone else gather around Stiles while he just sat there.  _ “They _ all came together, _ I froze!  _ Because I couldn’t understand how your emissary and you could be attacking one of our own packmates at his most vulnerable. How could you do that, hmm? How could you go after  _ Stiles?” _

Cora refused to meet his eyes, her brows pulled down in an unhappy scowl, which only made him angrier, knowing she still didn’t comprehend the uselessness of the pain she’d caused. 

“Why, Alpha?” and then she did look at him finally, “Why not me? I’m sure you’d like to ask me how I just sat there and let my claws pierce Boyd’s heart, or why I wasn’t smart enough or fast enough to find and rescue you three before Kali murdered Erica.” 

Her eyes started to glow red, and she opened her mouth to reply, but he kept going. “Maybe you want to know how Peter got inside of Lydia’s brain and used her to poison and kidnap me to necromance our psycho uncle back to life! Hmm? Maybe ask Peter what he was thinking when he killed our sister? Or how about demanding to know why I let Laura come back alone in the first place!” 

“I want to know why you sent me away!” she roared.

The words landed like a slap, and he jerked back, mouth closing around whatever other words he had. 

And then his little sister was pleading with him, “Didn’t I prove that I could stay with you? Fight with you?” 

“I had to keep you safe,” Derek’s reply was barely audible, carried by only the air it took to say the words.

She answered, “Then why couldn’t you go with me. You could have come with me.” 

He reached out almost touching her, then pulled back. “Because you were the only one I had left, and I destroyed everything I touched.” 

“Oh, god. Derek.” She put a hand on his arm, touching him right after he’d said it. Like it was nothing. Her eyes went glossy with the tears that welled up in them, and she pitched forward off her rock and into his arms, wrapping her own around him. 

He held tight to her then, their embrace containing years of grief and sorrow, and he rubbed his cheek over the top of her head and said, “Cora, please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. I never cry,” she sniffled into his chest.

“Okay, but—” he tried to tip her back out of his arms to get a look at her face, but she ducked her head and held on. “Okay,” he said again, and rested his cheek against her hair, also sniffling wetly. 

Naturally that was when she decided to look at him, turning her head to peer up at his face. “Oh my gods, are  _ you _ crying?” 

“No,” he grizzled.

“You are too crying!” she said, a watery smile starting to lift the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Derek said, “I have a reputation to maintain.”

She stared at him for a few heartbeats, then tucked her head back under his chin, her too-loud bark of laughter giving away her relief and still colored by her tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her words barely a vibration into his skin, though he still heard them.

“Me too.”

Cora sat back and wiped her face with one hand, and tried to use the other to wipe away the slimy wet patch on his shirt, so he peeled it off and handed it to her to wipe her face. She grimaced and took it, cleaning up, then he folded it and tucked it into the back of his waistband. 

The two of them, brother and sister in the moment, instead of Alpha and Beta, sat in the silence until Cora broke it, saying, “I hate her so much.”

He startled a little, knowing who she meant, but asking anyways, “Who?”

“Kate.” 

“Not me?” he answered reflexively, his remorse at being the tool she used to ruin his family being vast and ever present. He wasn’t sure if she knew what he’d done, but it wasn’t really much of a secret anymore.

“Why would I… oh no, Derek, no. I wouldn’t!” Her heart beat was steady as she said it, and he could feel she meant it. She laid her hands over his, one more point of contact to tell him the truth.

“She’s really dead though? Dead for sure?” Cora asked, her hands clenching on his. 

“I helped Peter dispose of the body this time. No coming back from what we did. She killed Gerard herself.” 

Cora nodded. A man came shuffling down onto their little beach, swinging a metal detector over an area of sand not more than a few steps away from them. They both watched him grumpily, but he showed no signs of moving on, immune perhaps, to their combined eyebrow game.

Derek tilted his head toward the path, indicating that they could head back, and they both stood and picked their way around the rocks and up the main beach to the trail, at a walk rather than the nearly inhuman run that they’d taken to get there. 

They walked in silence for a while, then Cora broke it, picking up the thread of their conversation. “Did Peter kill her?” 

“No,” Derek said, “and he was mad about it for months. He might still be.”

“Who killed her?”

“Theo.”

“Who the fuck is Theo?” Cora said. “Is he a hunter?”

“No,” Derek said, amused at the idea of Theo being a hunter. “He’s Scott’s second, or he was, I guess.” 

“Scott,” she snarked. “‘We don’t kill’ true alpha Scott McCall? How did that work?”

“Cora,” he stopped walking and waited until she stopped too, and turned to face him. She was trying to avoid the things he knew they still needed to talk about, and he couldn’t let that happen. For both of their sakes, for all of them really, things couldn’t be left to fester the way so many of their past mistakes had. 

She knew right away, he could read it on her, in that way siblings sometimes had a sort of telepathy or shorthand manner of communicating. She turned away and looked out at the lake, the same unhappy expression from before stealing over her face. 

“Mom made it look so easy,” she said.

“We were kids, Cora,” he replied. “We had no idea. And so much of what we’ve had to deal with started when she was the Alpha. I think we’ll never know what it was really like for her, or how well she handled it.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked, and when he looked at her confused, she clarified, “Giving up your spark.” 

His mouth dropped open, shocked at the very idea that she doubted, and he reached out to her folding her against him, and said fiercely, “No. Never, not even for an instant.” 

“Okay,” she said, her scent brightening, something dark and heavy lifting from it. She turned from his embrace, and started walking again, Derek falling into step easily beside her.

At their slower pace, they had more than an hour to get back to the Lake House, and he took his time to decide what he wanted to say and how to say it. Finally coming around to approach the subject directly, he said, “You can’t do that again, Cora. No more tests, just talk to us.” Derek’s mouth snapped closed on the irony of that advice coming from him, and his impulse to follow it up with ‘don’t be like me,’ but his sister didn’t seem to notice.

She nodded. “No more tests,” she agreed. Then added, “I’m scared, Der, when it was just me and Isaac fresh out of training, and Niccy, it was so easy. Now all of a sudden I have all these people. And babies. And Uncle Peter.”

He coughed out a short laugh, and Cora finally turned to look at him, a bit of a smile on her lips that fell away quickly. 

“I’m going back to the town that murdered our family. I miss them so much, and now I have this big pack, all this responsibility and I still feel like a stupid kid. I was too cocky, and it hurt Stiles. I’m sorry.”

“It hurt more than Stiles,” Derek said. He didn’t want to flog the point, but he needed to be sure she understood the harm her choices did, and could have done. “His dad, Lydia especially. Stiles isn’t the only one who still relives those months.”

“I wish I could take it back,” she said, “it was a mistake.”

“You can’t take it back,” he said, stating the obvious, then pushed her own words back to her, but softer, “It was a mistake,” he repeated. “But I think I understand why you thought you needed to do it.”

She shook her head, “No more excuses, I messed up, and I’m going to fix it, okay?” 

He smiled at her, then followed through on his earlier impulse. “Don’t be like me, Cora. I treated my pack like tools and weapons, not people. I was scared too, but nobody trusts a leader who does things like that. My pack disintegrated because they couldn’t come to me for leadership, they couldn’t trust me to care about them as individuals. Don’t make my mistakes. Remember what Noah told you yesterday?”

“Yes. Be kind.”

“I’m glad that’s what you took away from that.” 

They walked for a long while in silence, the trail getting busier with other walkers and bikers, tourists with cameras, locals walking dogs. Cora hooked her little finger around Derek’s and they continued on like that, the steady pace eating up the miles, leaving the trail and turning back onto the Lakeshore Drive bike path, then coming into the neighborhood where they were staying. 

Derek pulled her to a stop, and she turned to him, brows lifted in query. 

“I—” he started, then paused to start over, “Tell me about Nico?”

“What, like, Nico and me? Or Nico in general?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, general first, and then how he became your emissary?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “He was an emissary apprentice up in Florida to a mambo, then spent a long time as a second magical advisor to a big pack in Brazil. Like a really long time.” 

Derek nodded to move her along, he knew about that from Isaac, but didn’t want to derail her with questions about it. Instead he said, “So he’s not a druid.”

“Nooo,” she shook her head. “He says his lineage is Candomblé minus the Catholicism. He also has some druidic education, but he says he’s not a fan.” Derek remembered his jibe at druids on the first day of their visit. 

“So, he was in Brazil…” he let the words fade off, encouraging her to keep going.

“Yeah. I mean, no! He was in Ecuador, surfing and paragliding. He left the Brazil pack, he said he got tired of being tied to a day job, and he’d always wanted to spend some time surfing on the Pacific Coast. And he’d been out to the Galapagos…” She looked at Derek, then said, “I know, that’s irrelevant. So, um, mine and Isaac’s training was up in Ecuador too. It was really weird after being in Chile for so long, where we lived was really arid, and you know Ecuador, equatorial. There are some really big trees, and where we were was a sacred grove.”

“A nemeton?” Derek said.

“No, but there’s one in Brasilia, about a hundred kilometers north of where his pack was. That’s what got my attention. He taught a couple of workshops at our training, about working with magic users in packs, and living in proximity to sacred groves. I had questions about Nemeta and it turned out he was an expert. It just seemed like good luck. He always answered my questions, and then, well, I had questions about the Darach.”

“She’s gone too,” Derek said, to reassure her.

“I know, but— I wanted to know if there was a way to keep somebody like her from getting at our minds again. I thought about it Der. It’s the only way she could have poisoned me. I never could figure out how she did it.” She shuddered, then shook it off and kept going with her story.

“He explained things to me,” she said, “not like that cabrón, Deaton. I never felt like he was trying to keep information from me. His classes were really good, I liked him. Isaac said he did too.” 

“So what made you ask him to be your emissary?” Derek said. It didn’t seem like there was anything in the story so far that would lead to them becoming pack. 

“I didn’t. He approached us. When we graduated from training, he asked to join us, offered to be my emissary. Even if I hadn’t liked him so much, I’d have jumped at it. He’s way above what I could have offered as a brand new alpha with almost no pack, and he seemed fine with the idea that I didn’t plan to expand the pack or bite anyone until we found a good place to settle.” 

He had no reply, wondering instead about the ‘good luck’ that she mentioned. He couldn’t help feeling suspicious, but coincidences happened. And he knew Peter would look into him, had probably already started. So while he questioned Cora’s interpretation of events, he hoped she was right. They hadn’t had much of the good kind of luck, and they were due a little bit after everything they’d been through.

Cora seemed to be waiting for a response, and she fidgeted while she looked up at him. “I wish—” she said, anxious, “Did you like him? Before, I mean. Like, over the last couple of days, before we—” she stopped speaking and picked at a fuzzy spot on her pants. 

Her question seemed to be more personal, and he tried to consider it that way. If she’d asked him before, his answer would have been different. It was in his nature to be cautious, and while he might not have said he liked the brujo, he’d have been content to take it on faith that his sister and alpha found him worthy of being pack. That was yesterday. 

He was quiet for a long time before answering, “If he says something like that again to Stiles, to any of our pack, it won’t go well.” 

She nodded, eyes wide, and seemed to accept that was all the answer she was going to get on the subject. She started walking again, and changed the subject. 

“So, do you think you’ll come home?” 

Derek looked at her sideways, “Not to Beacon Hills.”

“Oh no, not there, even I don’t really want to be there any longer than we have to, but when we find somewhere else?” Cora said.

He couldn’t ignore the draw of family, as strong in its own way as the pack bonds, and he nodded. “Yeah, yes. I think. If that’s what Stiles wants.” 

“He’s it for you, isn’t he?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, her question more rhetorical, and besides they had arrived back at the house. She pulled the door open and went through, then stopped so abruptly he bumped into her. 

Stiles was standing in the entry, his phone in hand, and when he saw Derek, he narrowed his eyes at him and said, “You left your phone here.” 

Before Derek could say anything back, Cora made a little noise and started talking. 

“Stiles! I’m, I didn’t—” she stopped and drew in a big wobbly breath. Stiles stood there waiting patiently, the way he did now with Derek, giving her time to sort out her words. Derek stayed where he was, letting the tension of the moment tug at him without reacting to it.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, calmer than her false start, but more sincere for it. “I let my concerns, no—” she paused again, and Derek knew she was trying to be as honest as possible, “I made a wrong decision over my insecurities. As an explanation, not an excuse. I thought I needed to see how the pack works in a conflict, so I asked Nico to create one,” she swallowed and said in a determined voice, “by going after you. It was a bad call, and it hurt you and the pack.” She looked up at him, “And your dad,” she said, “and I’m sorry.” Stiles stood there stock still, with his eyes rounded and mouth slightly open. 

Stiles looked at Derek, then back at Cora, and finally said, “Wow. That was a lot of words for a Hale.” 

Derek snorted, feeling pretty talked out himself, and Stiles’ mouth quirked up in a knowing half-smile, then he said to Cora, “Okay.” 

Cora waited, trembling slightly, no doubt with emotional adrenaline. When Stiles didn’t say anything else, she answered, “Okay? That’s all?”

Stiles shrugged with his whole body then, and said, “I mean, Derek probably said everything,” he flapped a hand towards them and towards the door they’d just come through, “you guys were gone a long time. And I know my dad talked to you, so— okay. Just,” he paused until she looked at him directly, “if you want to know something, you could try talking to me next time. And, uh, I reserve my right to have a few more words with your emissary who should have told you no.” 

She nodded, quick little dips of her head like she couldn’t agree fast enough or hard enough. Tears pooled in her eyes, and Stiles rolled his, reaching out for her with one arm. “C’mere,” he said, and she stepped into him and he wrapped both arms around her, curving down to rub his cheek against hers like a wolf would. 

“Like, I’m still probably gonna be a little mad at you for a while, mini-Hale, but you’re still my alpha and I’m not expecting perfection for at least another week, okay?” 

Derek leaned back against the door watching him, his legs wobbly with relief. Stiles had the least reason of all of them to forgive her, but potentially the most impact in this moment, to how their new pack moved forward. 

Cora’s voice was small against Stiles’ chest as she answered, “Okay,” then she sniffled. 

Stiles tightened his arms around her and joked, “Are you getting snot on me, Hale? Because that might just be a deal breaker." 

Cora giggled. “No. Alphas don’t cry.” 

“Nuh uh, you’re totally crying,” he teased. 

“Derek cried too!” she said.

Derek huffed an indignant sound, and Stiles looked at him over her head and smiled at him sweetly. “Yeah, but everybody knows he’s just a big marshmallow under all that muscly wolfitude.” 

“Wolfitude? Really, Stiles?” Derek said, but his heart fluttered, giving him away to his sister at least, and he saw her turn to look at him, but his eyes were on Stiles, whose expression was telling him that they were going to be okay.

He let his relief sink into his bones, exhausted with the lack of sleep and the excess of emotion. It dragged him into his wolf skin, and he shifted, then wiggled out of his running shoes and sweats, bumped his head on his Stiles’ hip affectionately, then went down the hall to their room. He hopped up to curl on the bed, head buried in the pillows secure in the scent of his anchor, and he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? I know, even I can't believe it. 
> 
> Tahoe travel notes: I’ve never been on either trail mentioned, they weren’t there the last time I was in North Tahoe. 
> 
> Writerly notes: I just learned the difference between “awhile” and “a while.” I feel so smart now. And also dumb, because I’ve been doing it wrong for, um… many many years.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and your kudos and comments are the fuel to my fire.


	20. Chapter 20

Somebody knocked on the door, waking him, and he raised his head to see two little faces peeking through the opened door, and Father of his Stiles standing over them, holding them back.

“Somebody who may or may not resemble my son, let it slip to these two that you were in here being wolfy. I swear I held them back as long as I could.” 

He dipped his head in a nod and made a tiny ‘woo’ sound.

“Booyuck DeeDee!” both little cubs squealed as they climbed up on the bed, and tumbled over Derek, giving short little yips and woos, touching his ears and peering into his eyes. He lolled back and indulged them as they chattered away telling him very important things in words and sounds. 

“Booyuck! I bite the meanie purple man!” 

“No he’s a Witch, Cody, and I bited him first, Booyuck!”

“I bited him wif teef!” the boy Cody shouted and got right up in Derek’s muzzle with his fangs out, and clacked his teeth together to demonstrate. Derek pulled his head back out of snapping range.

“Cody! Put your fangs away, please,” the Father said. Derek thumped his tail on the bed a few times to let him know he wasn’t bothered.

“You soooo soft, Booyuck Deedee, mmmmm,” the little boy buried his face in Derek’s fur and smooshed it around. The other little one petted Derek’s back, whispering “good woof,” over and over. He decided it was nice, they sounded like happy children. 

His Stiles came into the room behind the boys, running a hand over their little heads, scenting them. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over Derek’s head too, and down into his ruff where he dug his fingers in and scratched. Derek moaned and flopped over on his side, and exposed his flank for more scratches. “Wujek,” Stiles said to the cubs, “Voo, yek. Wujek Deedee, Uncle Deedee.” 

“Boo. YICK! Deedee,” one little boy said, and the other repeated, “boo, yuck.”

Derek turned a baleful look on Stiles, who grinned back wickedly. 

“Like I said, Derek, family,” Father reminded him, “Get used to it. I’m not even sure how Stiles remembers any Polish, god knows I’ve forgotten most of it. His mother’s side were the native speakers.” 

Derek woofed quietly and put a paw on Cody’s leg, tilting his head like a question.

“Yep, he bit him alright,” Stiles said. “They both did, only Cody used his fangs though.” Stiles shielded his mouth with his hand and stage whispered, “Ramona and I were so proud.” 

Derek sneezed. 

“Don’t give me that,” Stiles admonished him, “they saved you the trouble, you should thank them.” 

Derek tilted his head the other way, considering, then licked both little boys on the foreheads. They squealed and scooted back, laughing, and Derek chuffed out a wolf-laugh of his own.

Father said from the doorway where he was still watching, “Derek, whenever you’re ready, I’d appreciate your presence, I want to talk to the emissary about some concerns I have about Alan Deaton. Whatever else happened, he’s still a resource, and I’ll take all the information I can get.” 

Derek dipped his head yes, and next to him, Stiles sighed deeply, and kneaded into his fur a few more times, before standing up and taking the twins by the hands. 

They protested as he said to them, “Come on, munchkins, let’s let Wujek Deedee get shifted and put his clothes on, okay?” 

Once they had all left the room, Derek hopped off the bed, shifted back and quickly put on clean clothes, then went out into the main living area.

By the time he got there, everybody had gathered, whether in solidarity or curiosity, he wasn’t sure. He suspected it was both. Stiles was looking around the room, one little boy gripping tight to each hand.

“Wow,” he said, “we, uh, need a babysitter. I’m guessing this isn’t going to be the type of conversation Baby Fangs One and Two need to hear. I guess I’ll take them outside.”

Lydia unfolded herself from the big chair where she had been cuddled up with Malia and reached for the boys, “I’ll take them, you stay. I’ve already said everything I needed to say to that one. For now.” 

She narrowed her eyes at Nico, and to Derek’s surprise he blushed and looked away. She turned to the little boys and said, “Come along children, you can have popsicles and I’ll teach you how to inflate balloons with an empty water bottle.” 

The twins’ gasps and prattle floated back to them as they followed the scientist out the door. Ramona got up and climbed into the spot next to Malia that Lydia had just vacated. 

Once the children were out of earshot, the attention returned to Nico.

“I know some of you were offended by what I said yesterday, mea culpa,” Nico said to the room in general. “But you know I was fascinated to see how this pack works together. I might have gone a little overboard in my enthusiasm, but it really showed all of us how connected we are.” 

The entire room reacted at once, and Noah said over the noise, “Wow, that was some bullshit apology.” He looked like he’d just had to listen to some kid in an interrogation room spin an elaborate lie that he wasn’t buying. 

Derek crossed his arms, and flexed menacingly. He noted the bandage on Nico’s arm and frankly was a bit irritated that the toddlers got to bite him and he didn’t. There was pack, and there was family, and if it came down to defending his family, he wouldn’t hesitate again, even within the pack. He glared at the man. At the same time, Malia growled, and after watching her with wide eyes, Ramona crossed her arms and growled too. 

“Jesus, Nic. You’re an idiot,” Isaac said.

“Nico, you’re not supposed to make it worse,” Cora said, her scent tinged with a hint of her own remorse.

“No shit,” Stiles answered. “Maybe we should get Caleb back in here and give him an opportunity to practice his bite.” 

Peter took a step toward Nico, and Derek was surprised to see the man flinch. It made something inside him loosen just a little, to see that he at least had some sense that what he’d done merited the hostility. “Yes, you should be grateful Ms. Martin wasn’t in here to witness that pathetic attempt,” Peter said, and Nico winced. 

“What exactly did Lydia say to him?” Stiles asked Isaac. 

“That after everything your pack had been through, you had a right to an emissary who took proper care and if he couldn’t do it properly, she’d relieve him of his duties,” Isaac said, grinning.

“Ah,” Stiles said, and turned back around to face Nico, a wide smirk on his face. “Yeah, you really should stay off her shit list, buddy. She can literally melt your brain.” 

Derek smiled slightly at the words, because whatever she’d said about getting away from the supernatural, it was now clear she had no intention of leaving the pack behind. Lydia was as much a central part of the pack as anyone else, and Derek hadn’t even known that was something he was worried about.

“Emissary,” Derek said, catching the immediate attention of everyone in the room. “You took something from all of us when you went after one of us.” He hesitated, and Stiles moved up next to him, shoulders brushing in support, as he waited for the brujo to give him his full focus. Then he went on, “My sister took responsibility for the idea, and I won’t argue about that, but you’re the one with experience, and it’s your job to advise her. I won’t let you put a wedge in my pack.” 

“Nor will I,” Peter said. He looked at both Stiles and Derek. “Now, are we ready to close the door on this unfortunate incident?” 

“I sure as hell am,” Stiles said, and Derek nodded. 

“Well then, Brujo,” Peter said, “here’s your opportunity to salvage some small part of your reputation by helping us out with some information. Sit.” 

Nico sat, and Peter motioned to Noah to begin. The sheriff leaned forward and started spreading out some papers on the coffee table, and said, “We’d like to get your analysis on some of the actions of our local druid, Alan Deaton, former emissary to Talia Hale.”

“And advisor to True Alpha, Scott McCall,” Nico added, letting them know he was aware of the man.

* * *

The sheriff, with Derek and Stiles offering up information from time to time, gave an abbreviated narrative of the dealings they’d had with Deaton, starting with consulting him as a veterinarian on various cases they’d labeled animal attacks. Nico listened intently as Noah described finding deer and other prey engraved with the spiral, for months before Laura’s death, and the vet’s response, and consulting with him about the hairs found on Laura’s body. Derek told him how when they were dealing with the Kanima, he shared almost nothing, endangering Lydia’s life by offering little help except to tell them that they might find information in a bestiary. 

Stiles took up the story, by explaining how Deaton had given him mountain ash and told him to use the power of his mind, but giving him little other advice about how to use it, not even telling them for sure that it could trap a kanima. “He sent me after Jackson with ash and ketamine, and told me to believe. As if I could figure it out on my own,” Stiles grumbled. 

Noah turned to him, but Stiles motioned to keep to the subject, telling him, “It was a long time ago Dad.”

The sheriff nodded sharply, then picked up the tale. “Due to that man’s negligence regarding the kanima, in my professional opinion, four people in my department lost their lives. Not to mention the others he was used to murder, and the toll it took on the young man they used as their assassin.” 

Between Stiles and Noah, with Derek filling in information the other two didn’t have, they explained how during this time, Scott seemed to grow more dependent on the vet, and how he finally revealed himself to Derek to be his mother’s ally when Peter was resurrected, while still not admitting that he was a Druid or an emissary.

They came around to telling him what little they knew about his plan with Scott to eliminate Gerard, and Nico looked ill when Stiles explained in a tight, angry voice, that Deaton’s plan was to put Argent into a fatal rejection by using Scott to force Derek to bite him. Nico looked at Cora as he listened, and whispered, horrified, “The bite is a gift.” 

She nodded solemnly, as Stiles added that Deaton had to have known that Gerard’s plan was to kill Derek. Noah continued by telling an openly shocked Nico about visiting Alan when the local animals started freaking out, finding him with a clinic full of dead cats who supposedly suicided. His voice was tight with anger as he told him that he later found out that was when the Darach came to town, “And I still have no fucking clue how that man could leave it to a few teens, an undocumented Zombie, no offense Peter, and an Alpha who wasn’t even old enough to buy his own liquor, to deal with a goddamn Death Eater!” 

With little break in the pace, except for Stiles to compliment his dad on the Harry Potter reference, they explained Cora’s poisoning, Nico only asking if they were sure it was mistletoe and  _ only _ mistletoe, which prompted Peter to reach for Cora’s hand, both of them exchanging troubled glances with Derek. Until finally they came to the kidnap of Noah and the other parents, and how Deaton helped them locate the nemeton by putting Stiles and the others through the death-ritual. 

“Wait, stop,” Nico went so far as to put a hand down on the files, halting the telling. He looked at Cora and Isaac, “Why did I never hear about this?” he asked, slow and deliberate, like he was struggling to retain his composure. 

Cora replied, “I didn’t know,” at the same time Isaac said, “It never came up.”

“There are a hundred ways to locate a sacred tree, even an obscured Nemeton, if your intentions are pure,” Nico said, “including an alpha’s wolf sight, a banshee’s scream, and bone scrying. Kitsune have many ways to locate nemeta. But a druid… a druid should always know where the tree can be found.”

The brujo sat back in his chair and whispered into his hands, “ _ Meu pai eterno _ . My gods, how did you all survive?”

“We didn’t,” Stiles said. “We lost… a lot.”

“Fuck.” The sheriff rose abruptly and stumbled out of the room and onto the patio, the sound of his ragged breathing coming back through the open door. Peter got up to follow him, and Stiles stood too, but Derek held him back with a hand around his wrist, saying, “Let him. He’s upset for you, he needs somebody else to put that on.”

Stiles sat back down, still watching even as Peter closed the door, cutting off his words for those with mundane hearing. The wolves couldn’t help but listen to his fury, his words of guilt over being kidnapped, and now learning the sacrifice wasn’t necessary and Deaton knew it. 

“I want to kill him, Peter,” he cried in his rage. “My son was dead, and now he lives with that darkness, and I can’t do a goddamn thing!”

Peter wrapped an arm around him and drew him a little further away from the house, and away from where Lydia was standing with the twins, observing. When she turned to look back through the window, Derek raised a hand to beckon her inside. She prodded both little boys through the patio door into the house, they both scrambled to Derek’s side, and he picked them up and settled the two tearful toddlers into his lap, pressing a cheek against their soft little heads. 

Inside, the whole pack could feel the weight of Noah’s pain, and Malia broke the silence in her distress, objecting, “It’s not polite to eavesdrop!”

“For humans, young coyote,” Nico answered gently. “In a wolf pack, if they needed privacy, they would move out of range, as they’ve just done.” 

Malia looked to Derek to confirm the brujo’s words, and he nodded, then she turned in her chair and pulled her new little sister closer and wrapped her arms around her, both of them clinging to each other for reassurance.

After some time, Noah and Peter returned to the house, the sheriff pale and drawn, Peter grim with anger that all the wolves could smell before he was even in the room. Most of the pack stood, and Stiles started towards his dad, but Ramona and then Malia reached him first, throwing their arms around him and rubbing their faces on his arms and clothes, scenting him frantically. He hugged them both briefly, rubbing his hands over their cheeks and down their necks to scent them back, then carefully separated from them and went to his son. They wrapped each other up tightly in an embrace that embodied the attachment they had for each other. Stiles’ father whispered into his neck, “I’m just so damn glad you’re still here,” and Derek felt the same sentiment down to his bones.

When they let go enough to step back, Nico rose from his chair and approached both men, his hands held out before him in supplication. “Stiles,” he said, and looking at Noah, “Sir, I am deeply sorry for the way I toyed with you and your family, and this pack, yesterday. Had I really understood how much you’ve all endured, I never would have considered adding to it, and I recognize that I should have had more compassion even without knowing. You have my sincerest regret and I beg your forgiveness.”

The Stilinski men looked from the emissary to each other, their faces skeptical. “What do you think, pops? Better than the last one?” Stiles said.

Noah shrugged and said, “Sounded real, I guess we could give him a chance to prove it?” Stiles poked his bottom lip out, in a parody of consideration, then nodded, and the sheriff turned back to Nico and said, “You’re on probation.” 

* * *

It was their last night together at the Lake House, and Peter was directing the prep of a massive dinner for all of them. Malia and Ramona were helping him by rolling meatballs for albóndigas en cadillo, and Isaac was cutting up vegetables for a chopped salad. Derek sat at the table watching Cora make tortillas, separating little knobs of dough and shaping them into little balls called  _ testales _ and putting them in a large bowl covered with a cloth, to rest and develop their gluten before she rolled them out. 

Peter and Cora were both grumbling about the lack of cast iron in the rented house, and Derek flashed back to their father packing his own griddle to take on their family vacations.

He picked up one of the pieces of dough and squished it until Cora slapped at his hands to put it back down. “Cora, remember Dad’s  _ comal?” _ he said. 

She paused what she was doing for a moment, a wistful smile stealing over her face at Peter’s quick burst of laughter. She shook her head, and Peter said, “I think he loved that thing more than he loved his family, nobody was allowed to touch it, and he’d threaten to sic a hellhound on you if you got near it with soap.” 

“I washed it once,” Derek said, “and he said he was going to find a Löwenmensch and feed me to it. Then he made me scrub it with salt and re-season it.” 

“But soap doesn’t hurt cast iron if you do it right,” Cora objected.

“Heresy!” Peter teased. “My sister told me once that Samuel  _ cried  _ when she ran his big Lodge skillet through the dishwasher.”

Stiles came up behind Derek and hooked a chin over his shoulder, “S’nice to hear all you Hales laughing in here, what’s so funny?” Stiles said, the vibrations of his voice made Derek’s skin rise in goosebumps on the back of his neck.

“We were talking about dad,” Derek said softly, and Stiles leaned into him, throwing an arm around his shoulder in a half hug before letting go and moving around the counter to poke at the various dishes, and Peter swatted at him with a wooden spoon. Malia shoved a plate of jicama and mango across the counter at him, and he said “Healthy!” and swiped up a mango spear. 

“What about your dad?” Stiles asked.

“Him and his love affair with cast iron,” Derek said.

Peter explained, “My brother-in-law was the chef in our family. He used to do these culinary classes up in Hill Valley, and I was usually his plus-one because Talia was never very interested.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat and turned around to the stove for a moment, stirring the soup that would be used to cook the albóndigas.

Stiles made a little sound of empathy, then picked up another mango spear and walked back around to the table, reaching out to run a hand over the back of Derek’s neck, scenting him. Then he tore the mango spear in half and fed a piece to Derek and popped the other piece in his own mouth and wandered back out of the room.

Cora’s eyes were as big as saucers, and she whispered, “Oh my gods, Der, is he—”

“Shut up,” Derek hissed, blushing bright red to the tips of his ears, “he doesn’t know what it means.” 

“Stiles, the guy who knew all about wolves in California before he knew about werewolves in Cali, doesn’t know what it means,” Cora said incredulously. 

“She has a point, nephew,” Peter chimed in.

“No, shut up!” Derek said again.

Ramona looked up at Isaac and asked, “What does it mean?” and Derek put his head down on the table and groaned quietly.

Isaac answered, “It means Derek’s kind of a dum-dum.” And the little girl giggled with the rest of them.

* * *

The feast was a success, with plenty of laughter and a few tears too, wrapped up with a bounty of cupcakes from a local specialty bakery that had the children squealing with delight and Peter alternating between sighing and looking on indulgently, making remarks about kissing his deposit for the vacation rental goodbye.

Nico had been subdued throughout the meal, after Noah had spent the rest of the afternoon alone with him, running him through everything he’d documented about Alan Deaton once he’d become aware of the supernatural. 

The twins were still bouncing off the walls in a sugar rush, eyes glowing yellow as Isaac and Malia both did their best to corral them and keep the damage to things and people to a minimum. Meanwhile, Ramona had dragged pillows out from the bedrooms and piled them in the corner of the room, and she was curled up with a small trove of books that Peter had picked up for her earlier in the day.

Peter’s daughter now, Derek reminded himself, then mentally corrected, his children along with the two little boy cubs, in all ways but the paperwork just like Malia. It was a strangely anchoring feeling, counting up the number of family within the pack. 

Noah’s phone rang, cutting into the quiet socializing, and he answered, “Jordan, one minute,” then left the room, going into a little study at the front of the house and closing the door. Derek chose to tune him out, but he could see Peter was listening in. A moment later, the door opened and the sheriff raised a finger to signal that he wanted Peter to join him. Derek knew it concerned the pack when Peter touched his shoulder on the way out of the room, and said, “You too, nephew.”

“Deaton has been taken into custody by the FBI, Agent McCall’s team,” Noah said without preamble, as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. “They served their warrants today, froze assets. He’s going to be charged with multiple federal charges related to theft and trafficking of cultural property and antiquities, both domestic and international.” 

“Explain what that means for us, please, Noah,” Peter said. 

The man took a deep breath in and held it for a few seconds, then slipped into detached professionalism. “In terms of the federal case, nothing. Our own more personal investigation into the man just got back-burnered I’d say. Deputy Parrish called me about Scott.” 

He walked over to the door and pushed on it, double checking that it was closed, then turned back around and said, “The situation is devolving and Scott is shut up in the vet clinic, refusing entry to the feds. Rafe called Jordan and told him that he’s trying stall breach by his team, because he’s certain that Scott is shifted.”

“Isn’t his whole team aware of the supernatural, and what about the other packs?” Derek asked.

“Yes, he’s been working with both Alphas and your friend Daniel,” Noah said, “but one of his team has hunter ties, and if they go in and find a feral alpha… None of us want that.” Peter started to ask something else, but the sheriff held up a hand and continued, “We’ve got another problem, Melissa is down at the station, attempting to file charges against Rafe for harassment, unprofessionalism — she’s claiming that his pursuit of Alan was being driven by personal vendetta and jealousy of his close relationship with his son. It would be very not good if he got pulled from this case.” 

He turned to Derek and said, “Son, have you or Stiles heard anything from Scott since you left town?” 

Derek frowned and replied, “He called me once, the day after we arrived in Carmel, but he never left a message. I know he called and texted Stiles a few times right after we left. I don’t think he ever responded, but you should probably ask him.” 

“Right,” Noah said, “can you bring him in?”

Stiles was watching for him when he came back out into the main room, biting his thumbnail, and he stood instantly, wiping his hand on his pants when Derek motioned for him to join them. 

Derek closed the door behind them, and Stiles asked anxiously, “Jordan called? Is everyone okay? Scott get one of the puppies killed this time?” 

“No, sit down, kiddo,” Noah said, “we’re worried Scott might get himself killed though. Deaton got picked up by the feds, and Scott’s barricaded himself in the vet clinic.”

“Did he—” Stiles started.

“He hasn’t done anything that we know of, but they have warrants to enter the premises and Scott is preventing that.” 

“The feds,” Stiles said, “his dad?” and when Noah nodded, he cursed softly and started chewing at his thumbnail again. 

“Stiles,” Noah started, but Stiles interrupted.

“No dad, I can’t. I can’t go back there, I don’t know what I could do anyways,” he said, and Derek recognized the beginning of a panic attack, could easily see the markers of his breathing changing rhythm. Derek reached out and took Stiles’ hand in his before he could chew the nail bloody, and Stiles darted a grateful look at him and sucked in a faltering breath.

“We’re not,” Noah was quick to assure him, to head off the rising anxiety, “I wouldn’t ask that of you. The further away from all this horseshit you are, the better I sleep, kiddo.”

Derek smelled the salt of the tears that welled up in Stiles’ eyes before he blinked them away and schooled his expression into indifference. 

“Then what?” Stiles said.

"I just wanted to ask you if you’ve heard anything at all from him that could help us? He’s isolated himself almost completely over the last few weeks and it would be easier to resolve this safely if we weren’t running blind,” Noah said.

Stiles dug his phone out of his pocket and keyed in his password, handing it over to his dad with the message app opened. “Yeah, texts all the time. I haven’t read the messages. Have at it, maybe it’ll help.” 

Noah started scrolling through screen after screen of text messages, tilting the screen so Peter could see them too. 

“So many? How did I not notice?” Derek asked, a little hurt that Stiles hadn’t said anything. 

Noah confirmed, “These are all unopened, you haven’t read any of them?”

Stiles answered Derek, “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I set his ringtones on, like, full silent so I didn’t have to hear any of it.”

“Not auto-reject?” Peter asked shrewdly.

“Maybe, um, so, maybe I didn’t want to hear from him, but I’m not ready to just, you know,” Stiles said. 

“There must be a hundred messages here,” Noah said. 

Peter held his hand out for the phone, and Noah gave it to him. After a quick flick through the screens, he said, “More, I’d guess. Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “emails, voicemails. Knock yourself out.” 

Derek looked at him in surprise, he hadn’t had any idea that Scott was still pursuing Stiles so doggedly. If he had, maybe he could have asked somebody to put a stop to it since it’s obvious that he didn’t want to speak to him. 

Peter made an irritated noise. “Stiles,” he said, “may I send myself a copy of these messages? The emails and voicemails too?” Stiles shrugged, and Peter must have taken that as a yes, because he started tapping around on the screen with purpose, before he went back to scrolling. He tilted the phone back towards the sheriff, and said to him, “This is probably related to today’s events.” 

Noah looked at the messages, then hung his head briefly. “Oh crap, Scott.” 

“What? What’s happening?” Stiles asked, but when his dad started to answer, he held up his hand and said, “No, wait. Nevermind. Unless there’s a genuine apology in there somewhere that sounds like he knows what he’s apologizing for, I don’t want to see it.” 

Peter swiped to another screen and held the phone up to his ear. Derek could hear Scott’s voice, speaking quickly, and demanding Stiles return his calls. Peter clicked away from that message and to another that seemed chosen at random, this time Scott saying something about Peter. Then another that sounded to be purely a rant about Derek. He started and stopped a series of increasingly incoherent messages, and Derek tried to focus on something else so he didn’t have to hear them. 

While the phone was still in Peter’s hand, a notification popped up on the screen for an incoming call. Peter tilted it so the others could see. 

> _ Incoming: Scotty _

Stiles shrugged like it didn’t matter, but both Derek and Peter could hear the spike in his heart rate. Peter slid his thumb on the screen, picking up the call but not saying anything.

Scott started talking fast, yelling really. Derek was sure Stiles and Noah could hear each word clearly even without speakerphone. “Do you know what our dads did to Deaton?” and “What the hell are you thinking?” and “Is this Derek’s idea? Some kind of revenge?” and “You need to quit fucking around and come home!” and “Stiles are you there?”

Noah took the phone from Peter’s hand, put it on speakerphone and said, “Scott, this is the Sheriff.” 

Scott went silent for a moment, then changed his tack, “Heeeey, Sheriff. I could use your help man, there’s some kind of mix up here with my dad. You always know what to do with him, you know, help me protect my mom?”

Noah said, “Scott, if I’m answering my son’s phone, do you think maybe your first question should be to ask if he’s okay?”

“Uh. Yeah. Is he back?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Then… is he okay?”

“Yes,” Noah’s answer was clipped. 

“Ooookay,” Scott replied. “But about what I was saying…”

“Scott,” Noah cut him off, “I’ll be back in town tomorrow, don’t do anything stupid before I get back.” Then he disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Stiles. 

He pocketed it and said, “I think it’s time for me to change my number.” 

“Not that I think you shouldn’t,” Noah said, “but we should probably keep that line active for now. I’m sorry, son.” 

“We can take care of that in the morning, put the old number on a different phone so you can take it,” Derek said, looking at Stiles for confirmation.

“Send it back with Peter then,” Noah said, “I’ve got to head back first thing tomorrow. Sorry to leave you in the lurch with the kids, Pete.” 

“I’ll manage. Shall I arrange a car for you?” 

“Nah, I’ll rent one and bill it to McCall,” he replied. “I think I’ll ask Nico to go with me. We could use some quality time together.” 

“Well, that’ll fix his little red wagon,” Stiles deadpanned. 

“It’s a four hour drive, and I have a lot of questions,” Noah said. 

* * *

It was early, just barely dawn, and Stiles rolled out of bed, waking Derek. 

He started dressing, and said, “My dad’s leaving in about twenty minutes, you don’t have to get up. I want to say goodbye.”

“No, I’m up,” Derek said, moving to get up, but stopping short and blinking rapidly when Stiles grabbed a tshirt from the foot of the bed, the one Derek had been wearing the previous day, and pulled it on over his head. 

Stiles hurried out of the bedroom, grabbing his staff on the way out, leaving Derek to try to convince himself that it didn’t mean anything to humans. It was just Stiles being Stiles. It did nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the flush that rose to his cheeks, only partially because he knew Stiles in his clothing wouldn’t escape the others’ notice.

Nico was waiting by the car, lacking his customary theatrical appearance. His hair was pulled into a braid that hung down his back, his face free of cosmetics, and his clothing was plain and comfortable for the long ride back to Beacon Hills. 

Stiles and Noah were talking quietly not far away, and Derek couldn’t hear what they were saying, confirming that Nico had taught Stiles some sort of privacy shield. 

Isaac came out of the house, carrying a large duffle which he set next to the car before coming over to Derek, drawing his attention away from the Stilinskis. 

“Figured I’d ride out with Nico and the Sheriff, so he wouldn’t need a rental. Cora’s going to go with Peter and the kids a little later today,” Isaac said. His hands were buried in his pockets, and he toed at the ground instead of looking at Derek. 

Derek reached out to slowly and carefully clasp a hand around the back of Isaac’s neck, and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. 

“I’m sorry, you deserved so much better from me,” he said softly, the full weight of all of his regrets in the words he offered up. 

“Let it go, Derek,” Isaac answered, “I have.” And Derek could detect no falsehood in his pulse or his scent. 

They pulled back from each other, Derek’s hand still wrapped around his former beta now packmate, and he said, “I’m glad Cora has you, that you’re looking out for her.” He let his hand fall away from Isaac’s neck, down to rest on his shoulder, unwilling to break contact. 

Isaac smiled and said, “She’s my best friend, and she’ll be a good alpha. I’d die before I’d let anything happen to her.” 

While they were talking, Lydia came out of the house, dressed to the nines right down to her chunky heels, with Malia trailing after her, yawning and dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and torn jeans. She kept going past Lydia’s Prius, all the way to Stiles where she walked right into him and pushed her face into his temple. Then she sniffed him and turned to look at Derek, but Stiles wrapped an arm around her and finished up his conversation with his dad, then the three of them came back over to the group standing around. 

Isaac’s nostrils flared, and he gave Derek a knowing look, which Derek tried to deflect by glaring. It might not have worked, except for the sheriff waving Nico over with a question. 

“Listen, do you think—” he paused and looked at Derek first, “I don’t want to bring up any bad memories, son, but Baccari put some kind of mind whammy on you, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Derek said. He knew right away where he was going with the question, in fact had wondered the same thing himself.

“Is it possible, to your knowledge, that Scott is being influenced that way by Deaton?” Noah asked the brujo.

Nico considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “In my opinion?” he said, “Not likely, other than the influence he has as a mentor or a father figure. From what you’ve told me, the druid travels too much. The kind of mind control you’re speaking of requires an ongoing presence.” 

“See dad,” Stiles said, “I told you it wouldn’t be so basic as getting someone to de-whammy him.” 

“Yeah, dammit,” Noah said, then added, “alright Mr. Emissary, Isaac, let’s load up and head out, daylight’s burning.” 

_ "Un memento,"  _ Nico said, and turned to face Stiles, “I have something for you, consider it a sort of olive branch.” He handed over a notebook and a packet of papers clipped together, which Stiles took, and then said, “I’m sorry, I know you’ll need assistance with the format, I didn’t have time to do that yet, but I think it’s important you have this now.”

“What is it,” Stiles said, flipping through the pages and frowning at the small, neat script that Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to read. 

“Things you should have gotten from the druid, about your spark. Notes, references, things you can learn to do, with and without your staff. I spoke with Ms. Martin, and she’s agreed to help me record some of it soon, like a podcast.” 

“You, and Lydia?” Stiles said as Lydia came up to stand next to him.

“That’s right,” she said, “don’t look so surprised, I’m doing it for you. This one still knows I’ll make a special trip back to Beacon Hills to deal with him if he steps one toe out of line.” 

“That’s my Lyds,” Stiles said. 

“Not my name, Stilinski,” she fired back, dimples showing. Stiles enveloped her in a hug, and there was a flurry of goodbyes. Peter came out of the house and handed Noah a travel mug and scent marked him while squinting intimidatingly at Nico. Cora, who was staying behind to help Peter with the kids on the drive back, also came out to the driveway, a sleepy Ramona holding her hand. The little girl ran out to Malia, who crouched down and hugged her hard, promising to see her in a few days. 

Noah and Stiles embraced once more, holding on for a long time while the others got in the cars, or went back into the house, except for Derek. Noah held an arm out to invite Derek into the hug, then he pulled back and placed a kiss on his son’s forehead, and then Derek’s, another thing he thought he’d lost forever so many years ago.

“You look after each other, you hear me?” Noah said.

“I’ll protect him,” Derek replied, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“He means both of us, you noob,” he said.

Noah nodded and said, “That I do.” Then he turned and got into the front passenger seat of the car, and left down the drive. 

* * *

After a late breakfast, pared down from a full-pack affair to just the four adults and three children, Derek loaded the last of the bags in the Camaro, and went back in to collect Stiles and say goodbye to his sister and uncle. Stiles was in a pile with tearful toddler werewolves, and a quiet Ramona, making promises to talk to them on video and come visit soon. 

Cody pushed himself away first, going over to Derek and winding his arms around his leg. 

“Bye bye, Booshuck Deedee,” the little boy said, sniffling.

“Wujek,” Stiles corrected, enunciating both syllables for the boys, and smiling at Derek.

“Boo-chick,” Cody mimicked.

“Getting closer, Tato can help you with that,” Stiles said, and Peter huffed like it was a chore, but his grin gave him away.

Derek ran a hand over the cub’s head and said, “You know they could just stick with ‘uncle,’ or ‘cousin’ if you were going for accuracy.” 

“This is more fun,” Stiles replied.

“Yeah?” Derek said, “What do they call Cora? Or you? Boys,” he pointed at Cora, “who is this?” 

Caleb smiled shyly, and answered, “Cho cha Coco.” Cora looked pleased, and Stiles offered a fist bump and said, “Very good,  _ Ciocia _ Coco, nice accent, my little dude!” Caleb fist bumped then stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Cora laughed a genuinely happy laugh, and Derek jiggled the toddler a little and pointed at Stiles and said, “And who is that?”

Cody looked from Derek to Stiles, then smiled at knowing the right answer, “Diles. Dickski!” he said and threw both fists in the air for Derek to give him a fist bump, and Caleb echoed around his thumbsucking, “Dilessh dirnshi.” Ramona buried her face in Stiles’ side and giggled. 

“Never mind, Dickski,” Derek snarked. “I think I’m good with Booyuck.”

Stiles snorted, then began the process of extracting himself from children. He hugged Cora and told Peter to keep an eye on his dad, then went out to the car, leaving Derek to say his goodbyes in private with his family.

No words were exchanged, no words were needed, they could all three read the connection in the others’ scent and body language. They held each other in that little pocket of love and safety for a time, then Derek broke away and went to his car. 

Stiles had his shoes off and his feet up on the dash, and Derek swatted at them until he moved, then put the car in gear. 

He looked at Stiles and said, “We ready?”

“Pedal to the metal, my man. You owe me a road trip.” 

Derek put his sunglasses on and flashed him a huge grin, with teeth, then took the first turn to drive north out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to write a story called, "The Adventures of Booyuck and Dickski."


	21. Chapter 21

Derek drove one mile under the speed limit with a straight face. It was worth it to watch Stiles flail.

“What good is all this horsepower if you don’t go fast,” Stiles whined. 

Derek pressed the accelerator until he was going two miles over the speed limit, then turned a huge fake smile on Stiles. 

“Aargh!” Stiles threw his head back into the headrest, “You’re the worst, sasswolf.” The effect of the taunt was ruined by a huge, jaw-cracking yawn, and Derek took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Stiles, noting the dark circles that lingered under his eyes, and the slight tremble of his hand where it lay between them on the center console. 

"You should get some sleep, we won't be anywhere too scenic for an hour or so," he said.

"Okay, Deedee," Stiles said.

"No."

"But it's so cute! It's even cuter than Derry!" 

"No."

Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek turned and flashed his eyes at him and said, "Dickski." 

Stiles' mouth closed so fast he could hear his teeth clack together. After a moment he said, "Yeah, that's fair."

They drove without speaking for a while, Stiles sliding down more and more in his seat. Before he could drop all the way into a nap Derek said, "I get 'wujek' but why Deedee?"

"Cora told me, said it would be funny, said that's what she called you when she was the twins' age," he replied.

"I never should have left you two alone together," he grumbled. 

A few miles up the road he said softly, "All the pack cubs smaller than me called me Deedee." 

Stiles opened both eyes and sat up a little to look at him with concern, "I didn't know, we can change it."

The loss pulled at him, but as he felt around the memories, he found the sharp edges had mellowed with the years into something he didn't want to fold away and forget.

"No, it's fine," he said eventually, "I want to remember." 

He could see in his peripheral vision Stiles watching him, and he prepared himself to continue the conversation, but after a time it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more, and when Derek looked over at him, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Finally, he was out on the open road, past the resort traffic and the municipal airport, sunroof open and window down, and he let the horses out just a little. The speedometer crept up to just above a respectable speed, and with the wind ruffling through his hair, he settled down in his seat a little bit, and tried to let the growl of the engine shut out some of the noise in his mind. 

He drove, there were few cars on the road in either direction, a two lane road that meandered slightly, heading mostly north-northwest, the sun high in the sky. The forest they drove through was far less dense than back home, pine and summer-brown scrub lacking the verdant richness of the closer-growing coastal fir and redwood he’d grown up exploring. The elevation provided frequent views of tree covered mountains, some topped by the year’s first dusting of snow at the distant peaks. 

As the speed ate up the miles, drawing him further from the newly expanded pack, he found himself resisting the urge to touch Stiles, not to wake him, but just to remind himself he wasn’t alone. He glanced at him from time to time, noting the small crease between his brows and how even in his sleep, he cradled his right forearm protectively instead of propping it up against the door.

His thoughts turned to Cora, and the children, family in all ways but the paperwork, and he was certain Peter would take care of that as soon as he could. Isaac, his sister’s right hand now, but he would always be Derek’s beta, his own bite, he and Jackson being the only ones left. He thought of the recent conversation with Jackson, and the news he still meant to share with Stiles.

He loved them, his family, and his pack, but being there with all of them for days had left him feeling flayed open, so many emotions just laid bare, so many memories flooding in. 

Derek had spent such a long time nearly packless — essentially an omega, only the weakest of links to his remaining family and the two surviving betas, and his attachment to a teenage boy it took him years to admit, standing between him and the more damaging effects of being solitary — having all of these connections again was like wearing shoes that didn’t quite fit. And having an alpha again strengthened the bonds, but it also intensified his fears that it could all be taken away from him once more.

He was worried about Cora going back to Beacon Hills, knowing it was unstable, and the nemeton, as well as the problems with Scott, but Peter was there. Peter wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and the packs were there, she’d have allies with experience and she’s always careful even if he couldn’t go with her.

The road stretched out before him, the middle stripe mesmerizing, and the sun behind him. He stretched out his fingers, trying to stop clenching his hands around the steering wheel, but his focus narrowed between the two lane highway, and the number on the speedometer. 

He edged his speed up a couple of miles per hour, trying to relieve the growing prickle of disquietude, not too much speed, he doesn’t want a ticket, can’t afford to lose the time to a traffic stop. 

His speed was fast enough that he’d caught up to traffic in front of him, and had to slow, gritting his teeth over the delay.

— he’s not going to panic, he’ll get there in time, and she’ll be careful, she's always so careful and too smart to let anything happen

— but the rogue alpha, he’s dangerous, and he can only protect her if she waits, if he gets there in time

The cars turned off ahead, and his speed crept back up another notch to make up for lost time.

— he never should have let her go alone, but his sister has always just done whatever she decided was best   
— He should have gone with her, even if he hates planes  
— It was selfish to follow in the car, what if something happened to Laura before he could 

Laura— he can’t feel her

It was easier to have nothing, feel nothing— 

* * *

“Derek? I’m going to turn the car off now, okay?” Stiles' voice was very quiet. There was a hand running softly up and down his bare arm, and he watched the hand as it left his arm, set the emergency brake, moved the gear lever to neutral, then moved slowly to turn the key in the ignition. 

The engine sounds died away and the hand moved back to his arm, running gently from his wrist up past his elbow. He looked at his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly the knuckles were white, then back to the hand stroking carefully up and down his arm. 

His heart was pounding, and a cold sweat stood out on his forehead, the back of his neck, trickled down his sides from his underarms. 

“Come on, big guy, you gotta come back to me, tell me why we’re stopped here. Derek?” 

Stiles was talking, was it to him? How did he get here? The hand went away, then there was something soft around his neck, and Stiles said, “Derek? Dude, come on now, can you feel that behind your head? Can you smell it?” 

The hand was squeezing his upper arm now, and he gasped, the scent of Stiles filling his mouth and nose, he looked around frantically, barely registering the concern on Stiles’ face. He faced forward, and squeezed his eyes closed, taking another gasping breath that bombarded him again with that scent. He reached behind his head with one hand and fumbled at the cloth that Stiles must have laid over the headrest. His hoodie, the sleeves were trailing down over his right shoulder. 

“You back with me, big guy?” Stiles squeezed his arm again, and he shrugged it off automatically, then regretted it immediately. Derek opened his eyes and looked ahead on the road, then at the rear view mirror, and finally turned and looked out the side window over his shoulder back the way they’d come. Stiles sat back in his seat, both hands in his lap, but watching him closely. It irritated him.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, “where—” he stopped, clenched his teeth around the words, not wanting to admit he didn’t remember the last part of the drive, and wasn’t sure where they were. 

Stiles knew somehow though, because he answered, “Data dead zone, so I’m not sure exactly, we’re pointed west more or less so we’re probably still on the same highway? I woke up when you pulled off into the breakdown lane, but you were pretty checked out.” 

He scowled at his hands, the hoodie now bunched up between them, and didn’t answer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles asked.

He shook his head. He was disoriented and embarrassed, not knowing which way he should go as he engaged the clutch and turned the key in the ignition. Then he sat there with the car idling for a moment while Stiles watched, before finally dropping his chin to his chest and asking in a small voice, “Which way?” 

“Maybe just keep going the way we’re pointed? We’ll see a road sign eventually,” Stiles said casually, like it wasn’t a problem at all. 

He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway, heading west. A few miles up the road a sign declared the road they were on to be the same highway, and about fifteen minutes after that there was another sign announcing the turn off for Lassen Volcanic National Park. 

Stiles poked him in the thigh and smiled hopefully, so he took the turn and they drove in silence for another ten minutes or so, until he pulled into the visitor center and parked. Stiles gave him a long look while Derek stared straight ahead out of the windshield, then he sighed and climbed out of the Camaro, reaching behind the seat for one of the trekking poles. 

He extended the sections of the pole, snapping the locks in place, then bent down and looked back through the open door and said, “C’mon big guy, let’s go be tourists. You can growl at the villagers, and I promise I won’t make you talk to anyone.”

Derek gave him a grateful look, if not quite a smile, and got out of the car to join him. Before going inside, they walked around the visitor’s center, past the signs explaining the geology and timeline of the park. Stiles paused in front of the first one, and a shadow crossed his face for just an instant, then it cleared and he kept walking. 

“They’d have an audio tour for the interpretive exhibit,” Derek suggested, but Stiles shook his head.

“Dude, I did a report on the types of volcanoes in California when I was in the fifth grade, I’m good. Just read me anything that’s interesting,” Stiles said. 

The path looped them back around to the front, where Derek paused at a small sign that explained the origin of the name of the visitor’s center, Kohm Yah-mah-nee. “It’s considered an extinct language,” he said, “it means Snow Mountain, in Yamani Maidu.” 

“That’s very literal,” Stiles joked.

“Mmmm,” Derek said. 

Inside, Stiles bypassed the gift shop and interpretive exhibits, heading directly for the cafe. By the time Derek caught up, he was already cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. The cafe offered a surprising selection of food, including grilled panini, which was more appealing than the pile of junk food Stiles had squirrelled away in the car. 

Derek carried their food out to one of the outdoor tables, and Stiles started in enthusiastically, but Derek was still shaken up from earlier, and he picked at the sandwich listlessly. Stiles finished his food, and leaned back in his chair, tilting his face up to the sun and closing his eyes, true to his word, not making him talk to anyone until he was ready.

After a while, he said, “I don’t know what happened back there.”

Stiles opened his eyes and looked at him for a bit, and when he didn’t say anything more, he replied, “I think I might, if, uh, when I guess, you want to talk about it.” 

“Is it… dangerous?” Derek asked.

“What? No, dude. It’s not like that, I think, this week was just a lot.” 

Only a little reassured, Derek wrapped up the rest of his sandwich, then gathered and discarded their trash, returning the plates to the cafe. They headed to the car, then drove a few minutes up the road to the Sulphur Works parking area, and got out to look at the two big fumaroles that were fenced off right next to the road. It was clear that Stiles wasn’t going to force him to talk before he was ready, and they bumped shoulders companionably as they walked the little half-mile sidewalk loop.

They got back in the Camaro, still without speaking, and drove up the road to the next parking pullout. Stiles looked at the sign, laughed, and said, “Does that say Bumpass Hell?”

Derek half-smiled and said, “It’s a three mile trail if you want to. You’ll need both trekking poles. It’s part boardwalk and part rough.” 

“Let’s do it, I’m sure you won’t let me fall in a mud pot,” he said. 

They were about a mile down the trail having just come upon the trail overlook, walking slower than normal because of the altitude, when Derek asked, “What was it?” 

“What do I think happened back there?” 

Derek stopped and looked at him, but Stiles looked out at the surrounding hills and took a bit of time to answer.

“Before we knew it was the nogitsune,” he began, leaning up against the railing and still looking off into the distance, “I had these episodes where I’d suddenly be somewhere else. Like, I’d be in a classroom, then an instant later I’d be in the Jeep and two hours would be gone.” He paused for a long time then, and Derek waited. 

“At first, I thought it was psychological because of everything that happened with the alpha pack, and my dad getting taken, and what we did to find them. PTSD, you know. I did a bunch of research, and at the time I thought it was something called a dissociative fugue, especially when I was gone for those two days. Obviously, it wasn’t that. But I think that might be what happened to you to a lesser extent, I think you may have dissociated. It can be like a glitch in the way your brain is processing information, or like kind of an out of body experience.” He finally turned away from the railing, and looked at Derek. 

He turned that information over for a moment, then said tentatively, “But I don’t even know how much of the road I’m missing, I could have caused an accident.” If it was unsafe, he had to know. He couldn’t take a chance of it happening again if it could jeopardize Stiles. 

“No man, it doesn’t work that way,” Stiles answered. “It’s like, you’re using RAM, you know temporary memory. So everything functions fine, it just doesn’t get written to the hard drive and saved. I mean, it sucks that it’s happening, but it’s not, like, physically dangerous.” 

“I think I had a flashback.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Stiles said.

“Not really,” he said, and for a split second he thought he saw something on Stiles’ face, a flicker of anger or disappointment, but the expression was gone too fast for him to be sure.

“Okay, wanna go look at some stinky mud?” Stilessaid, then gave him a thin smile and didn’t press him for more. He knew he’d have to talk about it eventually, it wasn’t fair to try and hide it, but he still didn’t know what he was feeling, or even what he was thinking, except that he was thankful for the reprieve. 

* * *

Stiles groused all the way back to the car about the elevation, the mid-afternoon heat, and most of all the sulphuric smell. It was just filler though, requiring no participation from Derek, other than a few noises of agreement. 

It wasn’t until they had been driving again for a while that Stiles broke the silence, and he was relieved that it was about something different. 

“So… Jackson? Sounds like he’s told you stuff, want to compare notes?” Stiles said. 

Derek kept his eyes on the road, his speed a leisurely pace as he navigated the curves and hairpin turns. The road had very little shoulder at times, as well as steep drop-offs, and the variation in speed required a little more concentration, which helped with the detachment he still felt from earlier. He raised a hand from the gearshift and indicated that Stiles should go first.

“Okay,” Stiles said, “but I’m depending on your gossip to be as good as mine.” 

He raised an eyebrow, and saw Stiles grinning in his peripheral. 

“He’s coming back, he applied for transfer to a couple of schools with environmental law programs. Stanford, obviously, and Boulder, and Lewis & Clark up in Portland. He couldn’t do it before, but he finally got access to his trust fund, so he’s using it to move back from London.”

He could feel Stiles’ gaze on him, then heard him huff in irritation, “And you already knew. Alright smugwolf, let’s hear what you got.” 

“Ethan isn’t coming with him, they split up.”

“What?” he squawked, “Man, I thought they were long-term, not that I’m sad about it, but what happened, is Jax okay? What else don’t I know?” 

Stiles continued to pepper him with questions, and he waited for him to run out of steam before giving him as much detail as he had. 

“No, nothing happened, Jackson’s fine. Ethan applied for EU Settlement, and wants to join the London Pack, he wants to live somewhere with a clean slate, where he’s never hurt anyone. And Jackson never really wanted to move there in the first place, he says it feels like exile. I think he always planned to come back.” 

“Huh,” Stiles said, “well your news is definitely more interesting than mine. What does Cora think? Does she know? Oh man, what about Lydia? Is this going to fuck up whatever she has going with Malia?”

“Cora is open to him officially joining the pack, as long as it’s just him,” he said, addressing the first question. Stiles made a noise that sounded like agreement, and Derek continued, “I think whatever Lydia and Malia decide is up to them, but he’s not trying to get into Berkeley.”

“Malia’s putting off her Paris trip again,” Stiles said.

“I heard.”

“Ramona is the same age as Kylie was, her little sister you know, when Corrine attacked them. I think she doesn’t want to leave her. They’ve bonded pretty hard,” Stiles said. 

He’d driven for a long stretch of the road before it registered that he hadn’t responded, and he said, “Cora wasn’t much older when she d—” he caught himself with a hard flinch, and finished, “when we lost track of her.” 

He could feel Stiles watching him, could smell the sharpness of his concern, and he leaned forward and turned the radio on, raising the volume to effectively cut off any more conversation. He knew it was petty, although that wasn’t what he intended. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he’d almost said that. His sister was fine, thriving even. He just had this weight on his chest, anger and fear mixed up with something else he wasn’t ready to talk about. And on top of that, he could feel the weight of Stiles’ disappointment.

The sound of country music played them down off Mt. Lassen and into foothills. Without asking, Derek went left west at the junction, following the highway to where it flattened out and ran west towards Redding. He pulled into the first rest stop they came to, not too far down the road, and killed the engine. The sudden silence of the radio was stifling, and Stiles all but threw himself out of the car and stomped off toward the treeline where there were some picnic tables, and a little sign boasted a ‘Laughing Brook Creek Trail Loop .3 miles.’ He couldn’t smell any water, but he could see the little bit of paved trail leading out from the back side of the picnic area. 

He didn’t watch where Stiles went, instead stomping off in the opposite direction to use the restroom. He washed his hands after, studying his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Even discolored and speckled with age and temperature changes, he could see the dark circles under his eyes, and how his entire expression was pulled down into a scowl. He gripped the edges of the sink for a moment, then washed his hands again and walked out, drying them on his jeans. 

Stiles was sitting on a picnic table across the rest stop, facing away from the parking lot and hunched over with his feet on the bench. Derek made a detour to the vending machine to buy a couple of bottles of coke, then trudged across the lot and stepped up to sit on the table leaving a couple of feet of distance between them. 

He passed one of the bottles to him, remembering not that long ago a similar peace offering in the woods by his old house. Stiles took the bottle and cracked the cap, but didn’t drink any, just sat there silent and tense, waiting.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek started, and Stiles shot him a look, eyes narrowed as if he could hear the lie. Derek huffed irritably, and pressed his mouth into a thin line briefly, then tried again. “I don’t know what to say. This morning was good, I guess, but now I feel…” he let the end of that sentence hang suspended between them. He really didn’t know how to put it into words. Not for the first time, he wished that Stiles could just smell what he was feeling.

Eventually, Stiles replied, “My therapist says that sometimes when you let yourself make new connections, you can get kinda hit with grief for the lost ones for a bit. Like, it’s good, but good can still be triggering, you know?”

They sat there for a few minutes, sipping at their cokes, the angry tension loosening its hold on him little by little. After a bit, Stiles stood and brushed the debris off his pants, and Derek stood too, shoving his hands in his pockets. Stiles looked at him, face still pinched with some emotion at odds with the scent of frustration coming off of him, and he said, quiet and strained, “It’s not about forcing you to talk, Derek.”

He turned and walked over to the restroom, and Derek went and got back in the car. He left the radio on, but turned it down low, and when Stiles got back in the car, the unease stayed with them. Derek kept his eyes on the road, and Stiles stared out the side window. 

They pulled into the town of Shingletown, not really much more than a slowdown for a couple of turnouts leading to a gas station and a ‘dollar general store.’ Derek stopped to fill his gas tank and he was sure Stiles would have something snarky to say about the general store’s garish window decorations, but he stayed facing away and closed off. He got back into the car after a trip inside to wash the smell of gasoline from his hands. 

For just an instant when he pulled back out onto the main road, he wanted to gun the engine, maybe do a little burnout to vent some of whatever he was feeling, but he knew that would just make things worse. Instead he extended his claws and curled them around the steering wheel, letting his lip curl up in a sneer when Stiles flicked his gaze over. When Stiles rolled his eyes and turned back to his window he pulled his claws back in, but felt a little more himself after that.

He’d just come back up to cruising speed on the other side of the barely-there town when a sign caught his attention. It wasn’t much of a sign, just a woodburning of a mountain peak with a rearing horse in front of it, and the words ‘Wild Horse Sanctuary’ cut into the bottom of the board, and an arrow that pointed down an unpaved road. 

A shadow of a possible memory dragged at him, and about a mile further, Derek slowed, then hauled a quick u-turn in the middle of the road. Stiles sat up with interest, but didn’t ask any questions. Derek took the turn onto a well-maintained gravel road and drove carefully until he came to a big gate with an archway in traditional wrought-iron that declared their location to be ‘Copeland Ranch.’ 

The gate was closed, but they hadn’t been there long before somebody rode out on a four-wheeler, stopping a few yards back from the gate. The person got off the quad and approached the gate, waving them out of the car. This close, Derek could see it was an older woman, maybe in her sixties, well-built and taller than average. Her clothes were utilitarian, and she looked like she’d been out working. When they got close enough, it was obvious that she’d just come from handling horses, he could smell them on her. He could also smell something else. 

The woman raised her head slightly and scented the air. If he weren’t a werewolf, he’d have missed it. Beside him, Stiles’ eyes widened and he turned to look at Derek. 

“I know you,” she said. Her voice was lighter and clearer than he expected, younger. “Wolf,” she added, then turned her attention to Stiles, “and Spark. I don’t know you.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Derek said, “I think I’ve been here before.” 

She moved right up to the gate, indicating that Derek should come closer, then she scented the air again and her eyes widened slightly. “You’re a Hale?” she asked.

He swallowed and nodded, and opened his mouth to introduce himself, but she cut him off with a brusque, “That means you’re Derek, I knew your parents.” She unlatched the gates and swung one side open, then said, “Well, come on, you and your friend come on up to the house.” 

Derek stood there for a moment, internally overloaded, one more thing in days and days worth of things, momentarily unable to move on to the next thing. A hand on the back of his neck drew him back to the present moment, and Stiles turned to the woman and said, “Thank you, we’re coming if you could give us just a minute.” 

She said, “Take your time, boys, but not too much time. I still got horses to water.”

Stiles squeezed the back of his neck once more, then spread his fingers up into the back of his hair briefly, then ran his hand carefully down his neck, like he was scenting him, and over his shoulder, then all the way down his arm to his wrist, where he circled the bare skin with his hand and squeezed again. Then he let go and turned and walked back over to the car, and Derek shook himself out of it and followed, pulling the car through the gate, and waiting for the woman to latch it shut behind them. 

She hopped back on the quad and sped up the drive, heedless of the dust cloud she left in her wake, and Derek followed slowly so as to avoid the worst of it. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author note: Peeps, I don't even know. They got in the car and all this stress leaked out. Family, amirite?
> 
> Travel note: Lassen Peak, y'all. I've driven over or around a lot of mountains in California, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Idaho and Wyoming. Hands down, Lassen is the freakiest. It's two lanes all the way, very little shoulder if at all for most of it, and the road in some spots is just perched on the edge of the mountain, which is hydrothermally active, like, everywhere. Some of the drop-offs are so steep, you're looking at the tippy tops of trees right next to the roadway. Then you suddenly realize that those trees are like 50 feet tall. 
> 
> Other spots are like on ridges, so the road slopes down from both sides. It smells great too! (voice-over: it does not smell great.) 
> 
> My partner laughs at me because I call it Scary National Park, and I will never, ever, ever go there again.  
> ***  
> Well, it looks like poor Derek isn't going to get a mental break anytime soon. Who is this mysterious woman who acts like a wolf? And what might she know?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: non-graphic mentions of historical suicide, suicide attempts, rape/non-con, and child sexual abuse.

The driveway was long, and in the distance, the tops of several roofs were visible, and smoke curled from a chimney to the sky, telling him that they were heading towards a residence.

“This is weird, right?” Stiles said, “Like, it should be weird, but my spidey sense isn’t tingling, is yours?”

“Yes. And no. I’m pretty sure I’ve been here before, it felt familiar when I saw the sign. She’s a wolf, you caught that, right?” Derek said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles answered, “but she didn’t feel like a threat to me.” 

Derek shook his head. “No. And I want to be here, it’s… I’m not sure. I feel drawn.” 

Stiles looked at him in mild alarm, “What, like, magically? Like bad darach juju or good… I don’t know, what’s the good opposite of that?” 

Derek rolled his eyes, but answered, “Good. Like a denning instinct.”

Stiles looked at him with a big grin and said, “Really? Like a little wolfy den? Well, I trust your instincts, dude.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Derek said with a frown. 

“Bullshit, I totally do. But let’s see what we can find out on the fly?’” Stiles said, and held up his phone and hit speed dial.

Ahead of them, the woman slowed down to a crawl as they drove past a little cluster of what looked like guest cabins, then she stopped in front of a greenhouse and hopped off the ATV and headed for the door, signaling to them that they should wait a minute. 

Derek listened to the call going through, and wasn’t surprised when Peter picked up on the first ring. 

“Stiles, missing me already?” he said. 

“Not even a little bit,” Stiles said, “but quick question, do you know anything about, um,” he looked at Derek, “what’s this place called again?”

“Copeland Ranch, about thirty miles east of Redding on the 44,” Derek said. 

There was a pause, then Peter said, “Ah, Judith. She’s a werewolf of some renown. Fascinating woman. The short answer,” he was cut off momentarily by a high pitched shriek, and the sound of a scuffle, then his voice aimed away from the phone microphone, “Snacks not screaming, little beasts, there’s plenty to share—” and Stiles smothered a laugh, then he was speaking to them again as if there were no pause, “it’s a combination mustang refuge and dude ranch. They’re good people, but they’ll put you to work if you stay longer than just dinner. Not a bad choice for your little travel adventure. I’ve spent time there myself.” 

The wolf came back out of the greenhouse, carrying a large plastic tote that she strapped to the back of the quad, then she got back on and kept going the way they’d been, except much slower.

They heard a crash over the phone, then crying, and Stiles’ dad in the background making sympathetic noises.

Peter sighed and said, “That’s my cue, say ‘hi’ to Timothy for me.” 

“Who’s Timothy?” Stiles asked, but Peter had already disconnected. “Asshole,” he said, and put his phone in the center console. 

“So,” Stiles said, turning to look at Derek, “roll with it?” 

Derek raised an eyebrow and said, “We trust Peter now?”

“Not especially, but aren’t you wondering who Timothy is? Because I sure am.”

“Hmm,” Derek said. “Let your dad know where we are so if Peter gave us bad advice he can kill him for us.” 

Derek pulled up next to a pickup and a couple of utility vehicles, parked up next to a sprawling ranch house. A board porch ran around one entire corner, framing large windows, then transitioned to a patio made of some kind of aggregate, that ran down the whole side of the house. There were multiple patio tables and sun umbrellas set up, and a couple of shaggy farm dogs napping at the edge of the patio, a number of chickens pecking at the ground around them.

Children’s toys were strewn among the patio tables and spilled out over a large, well-maintained lawn, and the domesticity of it eased his ever-present worries for their safety. 

Stiles got out of the car first, looking around, then Derek did too, tilting his head to listen for more people. There seemed to be several inside the house, adults and children, all going about their day without alarm. He was too far from the outbuildings to hear anything concerning there, so Derek kept most of his attention on the woman. 

“Now,” the woman said, without bothering to get off the quad, “if you boys are staying for dinner, it’s in there,” she pointed to the house at a set of double doors off the large patio, “six sharp. If you’re late, I can’t promise there’ll be anything left.” She turned and pointed over her shoulder at a small cabin, “If you’re staying longer, you can use the guest shed. It has its own toilet and a small tub, but if you want to shower you’ll have to go over to the big house.” 

Derek was still trying to process what seemed familiar to him about this place, the woman’s brusque manner not doing much to clear that up for him. Stiles let out a small sound, and moved around the front of the car to face her. 

“And you are?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

Her eyes crinkled up and she laughed, a bright musical thing of joy, and she hopped off the quad and approached both of them, hand extended for a handshake. “I’m Judi. Judi Copeland, like it says on the sign. Sorry boys, one of my auto waterers is on the fritz and I’m a little distracted. Usually all our introductions are done by email before guests arrive. Our season just closed for excursions and we're using the down time to catch up on some maintenance, but we’re always happy to have visitors from other packs. There’s plenty of room. Now, are you staying for dinner or longer?”

“Stiles Stilinski, yes it’s a nickname,” Stiles replied, a smile on his face, then he motioned to Derek, “you know who he is somehow.” Derek saw a sharp look on Stiles’ face that he recognized from so many times when Stiles encountered something that sparked his curiosity, so he wasn’t surprised when he said, “We’re not on a schedule, so dinner at least?”

Derek nodded to thank her, baring his throat slightly to acknowledge being on what was clearly pack territory. Judi smiled at him, a wide genuinely friendly smile, and said, “None of that, I’m not the alpha, and we’re not that formal around here.” 

“We’ll stay the night if it’s not too much trouble,” Derek said, and Stiles bounced on his toes, pleased.

“It’s not too much trouble, young Hale. The guest shed is cleaned to werewolf standards, so you can have a rest before dinner, or if you feel like it, come on out to the barn with me for a bit. There’s spare boots out there so you don’t wreck your shoes. What about you, Stiles?” Judi said.

Derek decided on the spot to go do a little work, he was still feeling out of sorts from earlier, and the physical activity would help. 

Stiles shook his head and said, “I think I want to make a couple of calls before dinner.”

“Suit yourself, go on inside, they’ll give you the wifi password if you need it,” Judi replied, and climbed back on the quad. She waited for Derek to get situated on the little ATV seat behind her, and told him to hold tight to the grabhandles, then they headed off in the direction of the outbuildings.

* * *

“Alright, grab yourself a pair of boots,” Judi said, when they reached the barn, “and grab that workbench over there and follow me. We’re gonna see if we can fix the damn drinker or if we’re gonna be hauling water for the next hour. Get some gloves too, they’re over there on that rack.”

While Derek did as he was told, the woman took a hay hook and pulled some pieces of hay into a wheelbarrow, then she headed out into the paddock. There were two horses and a mule in the pen, and she wheeled the hay over to the fence and told Derek, “Toss those flakes out there, break ‘em up a little. We gotta shut these three in the next pen so they don’t harass us while we work. The alfalfa’s a bribe. Save a couple of handfuls for the horses.” 

Judi threw out one of the chunks of hay, partially broken up, then clapped her hands together to dust them off and walked over to the mule and put a piece of rope around his neck and led him to the next pen. Derek finished the task, and Judi came back around the fence. She pointed at the horses, “That one’s Amy and the other one’s Rory. Get yourself a handful of hay and show it to them, they’ll follow you right through,” she said. “Give ‘em scratch while you’re at it, they’re both gentle. Don’t try to touch Eleven though, he’s nippy.”

Derek led the horses through to the other side, blocking the mule from going back through the gate, and offered the hay with flat hands, feeling like a child. The horses slobbered on him, then bent to start eating the hay on the ground, and he patted their necks for a minute or two until Judi called him over. 

She was bent over to remove a couple of screws from the housing on the waterer. “Get that bench over here so I can set this thing on it. I’m hoping for a bad drain valve, otherwise I’ll have to head into Redding in the morning for parts,” she said, then she lifted the inside of the unit out of the housing and laid it over on its side on the workbench and depressed the fill-paddle. Water sprayed out from the bottom of the unit and she said, “It’s our lucky day, kid. We got ourselves a bad drain valve.”

It took only a few minutes, then she reassembled the unit and tested it, then she had Derek carry the workbench back into the barn, and opened the gate so the three animals could come back into the main pen if they wanted. He stood listening for a moment to the murmur of Stiles’ voice. He was too far away to make out what he was saying, but otherwise seemed fine. 

“Your mate’s safe here, I give you my word,” Judi said, startling him. 

“I didn’t— he’s not—” Derek started to say.

Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air and she gave him a knowing look. “Honey, you’ve been looking his direction approximately every ten seconds since we left him,” she said, but her tone was kind. “Now, you can go on back if you need to, but I swear to you, he’s safe on my land.” 

It was exactly what he needed to hear and Derek sagged at the reassurance, tears welling up unexpectedly in his eyes. 

“Aw, kid, c’mon have a seat,” Judi said, pointing at a hay bale. She grabbed a bucket and flipped it upside down, then sat near him and smiled at him fondly. “You were such a smiley, chatty little thing when I met you. You two have had it rough for a long time, haven’t you?”

He looked at her in surprise. “So I have been here before?” 

“Of course you have, honey! Your daddy brought you here when you were just a little guy, about eight years old I think. Your mama and the baby came out for the day, but she had business to attend to, and we took you and your older sister and Samuel on an overnight outing to see the mustangs. You were so excited, rode up next to my granddaughter the entire trail and talked her ears off.” 

He couldn’t remember, and he stared at his hands trying to think of how to respond, but Judi spoke again. “It’s okay if you don’t recall the trip, you’ve had bigger things to worry about. We’re not entirely ignorant of what y’all have been through.”

Derek gave her a weak smile and said, “Thank you.” 

She tilted her head and listened for a bit then said, “Sounds like your young man is keeping occupied, so if you don’t mind helping me out, we can make quick work of a few chores, and then you can go get cleaned up for dinner.” 

Derek didn’t correct her on the nature of his and Stiles’ relationship, and he didn’t want to think too hard about it. He just nodded and followed after the other werewolf. 

* * *

Stiles was waiting for him in the little ‘guest shed’ when he got back from the barn. It was less rustic than he expected, with a large picture window on the back side that faced out to a pasture, a line of green in the distance suggested a creek. He could see several horses out grazing and wondered if they were the wild horses. The little guesthouse had doors on both sides, front and back and they both had latch-style handles inside and out, just like the house he grew up in, so that he wondered who in the pack was a full shifter. 

“Feel better?” Stiles asked as soon as he came through the door.

He toed his boots off, and left them sitting next to the door to return to the barn later, then stretched and nodded. “It was good,” he said, glancing at him. Stiles was lounging on the only bed in the room, a massive california king with several ridiculously overstuffed throw pillows, and watching a video with the sound off. 

“So she’s a werewolf, how does that work with the horses?” Stiles asked.

“I’m not sure, desensitization? Or we look human?” Derek said. He pulled off his dirty shirt and picked out clean clothes from his bag. “I’m going to shower before dinner. Did you finish your calls?”

“Yeah, my therapist was free, so I had a session with her,” he said, “then I called my dad and checked in like you said, but there was a lot of kid noise in the background and they were waiting for some furniture delivery, so that didn’t work out too well.” While he talked he slipped his shoes on and stood to go with Derek to the main house. “I was going to call Jackson, but it’s something like past midnight there, so I’ll call in the morning.”

“Any word on Scott?” Derek asked, and Stiles frowned. 

“No, but I didn’t get a chance to ask. No news is good news?” he said.

“Possibly,” Derek said, “I wouldn’t take that bet though.” He opened the door and Stiles went through, heading across the yard to the main house. Derek shut the door, and took a couple of quick steps to catch up with Stiles, and grabbed his wrist to get him to stop. 

“Stiles, wait,” he said.

Stiles turned around with a look of concern on his face, “Yeah, big guy. You okay?”

Derek kept his eyes locked on where his hand encircled Stiles’ wrist, and said, “I just wanted to say thank you. For today, for helping me.” 

“Derek…” Stiles said, and turned his hand to grasp back. Derek found himself holding his breath, wishing Stiles would finish the sentence. He finally looked up and Stiles’ eyes looked sad and kind. He remembered his family in the kitchen of the Lake House, teasing him about Stiles intentions, and how much he wished it were true. He thought of Cora encouraging him to tell Stiles how he felt, but maybe it was better like this. 

Friend. Buddy. Even Dude. He could be sure of that. More was a risk he didn’t feel like he could afford to take. 

“Hey,” Stiles pulled his wrist from Derek’s grip and raised it to swipe a thumb across his jaw, “you’ve got mud. I hope it’s mud and not horse poo.” And just like that, the moment, whatever it had been, was lost. All that remained was the ghost of Stiles fingertips on his face. 

At the main house, they went through a door marked ‘guest entrance.’ Inside on the wall, there was another sign with arrows that pointed to the showers, dining room, lounge, and kitchen. Derek could hear several voices and a number of heartbeats coming from the direction marked ‘kitchen,’ and Stiles turned to go in that direction. It went against his instincts to leave him to walk into the middle of strange wolves, but he could hear Judi talking to the others, and she’d promised he’d be safe. He still all but ran to the showers, cleaning himself as quickly as he could, then dressing and hurrying to the kitchen where the others were.

Stiles sat at a long table with a combination of chairs and bench seating, enough for at least a dozen people to sit and eat comfortably. He knew this was probably where the pack took its meals, rather than the dining room that was marked on the sign. Stiles was coring strawberries, a tiny paring knife held awkwardly in his left hand, and he lit up with a wide, open-mouthed smile when Derek pushed through the door. 

“Der! Strawberries, in October!” He pointed at the bench next to him with the paring knife, and when Derek took a seat, he picked a berry out of his bowl and held it to Derek’s mouth until he took it, then blushed scarlet to the tips of his ears when the double thump of his heartbeat gave him away to every wolf in the room. Stiles had already turned back to the conversation, but his hand rested against the side of Derek’s neck, a thumb stroking at his pulse for a few unsteady heartbeats, before he returned to his task. In a wolf, it would have been possessive, a declaration to the other wolves, ‘this one is mine.’ 

Stiles was human, Derek reminded himself. Did he know?

The conversations moved organically around him as meal prep continued, dishes being laid out along the table, when Stiles turned to Judi and said, “So, are you the ‘Judith’ that Peter Hale knows?”

Judi grinned and flashed her eyes briefly, they were blue. “Sure am, cub. You might say we’re in the same line of work,” she said. Stiles turned to Derek for an explanation. 

“She’s the pack protector, what your lore books refer to as the Left Hand,” Derek explained, and Stiles nodded like that was the answer he expected. 

“Then who’s Timothy? He said to say hi to him,” Stiles said. 

Several of the pack laughed, and Judi’s eyes twinkled. “Oh yes, Peter and Timothy. Those two…” she grinned down the table at her pack, “I’ll take you out to meet him tomorrow.” 

Somebody leaned over Stiles’ shoulder and took away the bowl of cored strawberries and replaced it with a plate and cutlery. Derek noted that she respectfully didn’t touch Stiles at all, and he looked up and down the table wondering which one of them was the alpha. Down at the other end of the table, but not at the head, a young woman flashed red eyes at Derek, in answer to his unasked question. 

She was young, maybe only a few years older than he was, and pretty, with dark skin and long hair in twists, pulled back into a yellow scarf. The pack was large and felt calm, with a general ease in their manner with each other that spoke to long term stability, but he knew that it was unusual to find an alpha this young at the head of a pack like this. 

Stiles spoke up and introduced her, “Derek, this is Alpha Angelina?” he trailed off, frowning. 

“Angelica,” she corrected. Her voice carried power, even in that one word, and Derek was strangely reassured by it.

“Right, sorry,” Stiles said, “Angelica. This is Derek Hale, of the Hale Pack from Beacon Hills.” The introduction was semi-formal, and in spite of what Judi said earlier, he tilted his head to bare his throat for the alpha. 

Her dark eyes flashed red for an instant and she said, “We’ve held off on the rest of the introductions until you were here.” She looked around the table, where everyone had taken their seats and were waiting patiently. “But if you don’t mind, we can skip the formal introductions and eat.” 

Food was dished up and eaten amid conversations and laughter, with others in the pack making their own introductions. There were several children in the pack, as well as a couple of places around the table that went unused, less like somebody they’d lost, and more like a normal absence. 

One young woman who looked to be in her late teens was heavily pregnant, and she was quiet and guarded like it was her habit, her hand coming down around her belly presumably in response to the baby kicking. She didn’t appear to have a mate, but the man sitting to her left was attentive in a protective way. She didn’t introduce herself, and nobody pressed her on it. 

After dinner, Judi and the alpha led them into a large space set up with cozy couches and activity tables. Photos lined the walls, mostly groups of people on horses, and around campfires, some black and white, some faded color, and some were the vivid colors of modern photo printing. There were some framed newspaper articles as well, the yellowed paper declaring their historical place in the collection. Angelica went over and started what looked to be a pellet stove, then turned on a couple of extra table lamps to raise the ambient lighting to human levels, and as he looked around he could see how the room was more suited to humans than pack. He guessed this room served as a social area for guests during their tourist season, and a deep inhale confirmed the overlay of many scents that hadn’t yet been cleaned away. 

Judi waved a hand through the air and said, “Sorry about the smell, it takes a couple of weeks to go away after everybody leaves. There’s something I want you to see.” She moved over to the far wall to stand in front of a grouping of smaller color photos. Stiles and Derek both came up next to her, and when Derek got close enough to see the image, he gasped in shock. 

In the middle of the photo group was an image of a handsome dark-haired man with his arms around two small children, all smiling brightly at the lens. 

“Oh Derek,” Stiles breathed, and his arm came up around Derek’s shoulder as he pulled the werewolf in to curl at his side. “You look just like him.” 

Derek’s breath hitched in his chest, and Judi backed away discreetly. He reached forward, shaking fingers hovering over the glass, in front of his father’s face. The face he saw in the mirror every day, but couldn’t remember when he dreamed. His father had always been the one with the camera, and none of the few pictures he’d eventually recovered from the vault had included him. 

He hadn’t seen his father’s face since he was fifteen years old. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring, but after some time, Stiles turned his head and said quietly to the others, “We’ll need a copy of this before we go.” (“Can we get a copy of this before we go?”)?

“Of course,” Judi replied, “I found a few more you’ll want to see.” 

Derek turned to see both women sitting at one of the tables, a laptop open in front of them. Judi motioned to the seats and turned the computer towards them as they sat, a photo app open and an image on screen much like the one on the wall, except that his father had his nose buried in the top of Derek’s head. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, Laura’s head was turned away and her shoulders were pulled up like she was giggling, and Derek’s gap-toothed grin was as bright as the sun.

He advanced slowly through several more photos from the trail ride— one of Derek on a horse, smiling up at a teenage girl on her own taller horse; another of his father sitting in front of a campfire, eating; two of Laura on horseback, head thrown back in a laugh in both of them. The next photo was of their entire family. His dad held baby Cora on his hip and had his arm around Derek, Laura pressed up against their father’s side. His mother leaned into them, close behind Derek, but she was frowning down at her phone. In the next image, she was smiling into the camera, but the phone was still visible in her hand, the screen lit. 

“I remember this trip now,” Derek said. “We took the trail out to watch the mustangs. We stayed two nights outdoors. You made flapjacks.” He paused, “I didn’t see your granddaughter at dinner, is she…” he hesitated, knowing that with so many casualties caused by Monroe’s crusade, he might not like the answer.

“No, she’s fine, just not here,” Judi said, frowning. “She’ll be back later in the week, she’s up in Steens helping another pack.” He breathed out a little sigh of relief that her absence wasn’t yet another story of loss.

“Why didn’t mom come on the trail ride, was Cora too little?” Derek asked. 

Judi tilted her head and looked away, a hard look crossing her face. “No, not for a cub. A human toddler would have been too little. Your mother was…” her eyes darted back to look at Derek, then away again, the glance doing nothing to soften her expression. “Talia was a new alpha, and she was very caught up in the politics of it all. Not very maternal, that one,” Judi said, her tone judgemental. 

Stiles shot her a dark look, and the alpha, who had been silent up until now, rumbled at the older woman.

“That’s very heteronormative of you,” Stiles said. 

Judi barked out a laugh that was anything but amused, and inclined her head toward the alpha before she answered. When she did, her tone had less distaste, but was still critical, “Well you’re not wrong, but I’m talking more about her instincts than whether or not she wears an apron and cooks dinner. As a wolf, Talia’s instincts should have been to protect her den from the known threat from the Argents and the up and coming Calaveras. But she was very busy, and she played those politics for a long time, tried to rope the packs into whatever she had decided was the right way to go. That was the only reason she was out here, to speak with our alpha.” 

Stiles bristled and interrupted her, “No offense, but well, no, this is kind of offensive, I’m offended.” 

Derek almost smiled at the protectiveness, and he pressed his shoulder into Stiles’ and said quietly, “It’s okay, there’s not really anybody who can tell me about her. I’d rather know, even if some of it is not… good.” Stiles nodded and settled back in his chair, but the tension didn’t quite leave him.

Judi’s mouth was set in a thin line, and she looked at Derek for a long time before continuing her story. “Our alpha wasn’t interested in her version of neutrality. He was interested in survival, and he thought Talia’s idealism was a threat to all of us. Talia thought we should be sticking with tradition, that if we followed the old rules, the hunters would have to leave us all in peace. That the ones who were targeted had done something to make themselves a threat, so all we had to do was not be threatening.” 

“Respectability politics,” Stiles said. 

“That’s a good phrase for it,” she said. “Talia thought if we didn’t provoke hunters we’d be safe. But I’m an old woman and I know that many of them don’t need any more provocation than knowing what we are. But there had never been any significant attack on the Hale pack, and Talia saw it as proof that her methods worked.” 

“Post hoc, ergo propter hoc,” Stiles said. Derek’s pulse made a little blip, like it did every time a bit of Stiles’ pre-injury intellect showed itself.

“Mmhmm, Lisa’s anti-tiger rock,” Judi said.

“Did you just make a Simpsons reference?” he replied, laughing.

“I’m old,” Judi replied, “but I’m not that old, I watch shows.” 

Derek stared at the picture on the computer screen, looking at his mother’s face and looking into the past at what he knew, trying to separate what he’d observed as a teenager, which wasn’t much, from what he’d been told. Small things Laura had said, and other stories from Peter. 

“My mother knew Gerard was a psychopath, but I know she had that treaty with the Argent family. And I know she warned Deucalion about trusting him,” he said. 

Judi nodded and said, “But she always thought it was other people who were in danger, the packs who took risks. We tried to tell her that it didn’t matter how traditional she was, how neutral, she was vulnerable to the Argents, you all were. They wouldn’t honor a hundred year old treaty even if your mother kept to it. And we weren’t the only ones who warned her. Your uncle tried too, he was young, but crafty, and he had already developed his little network of informants, but your mother wasn’t able to hear it. She thought she could stand outside of both sides, the ones who wanted to stand up against the hunters, the rogues and the psychopaths, and those, like Deucalion, who thought they could make enforceable treaties, new ones, with other factions. Maybe she had the right idea in the wrong time, I don’t know. She was always stubborn and idealistic.” 

“You resented her,” Derek said.

Judi looked up at him, then back at the screen that had finally gone dark. “I did,” she said, “but we were still heartbroken when we heard what happened. I sent one of my wolves out there to find you, but Peter was in the coma, and hunters were everywhere. And you and your sister had disappeared.”

“I’m glad you didn’t find us,” Derek replied, “It would have brought the Argents to your door, eventually.” 

Angelica spoke up, “That wouldn’t have mattered, the old alpha would have taken you in. Like he did with me.” 

“And me,” Judi said.

“How long have you been here?” Stiles asked. Derek raised an eyebrow at the older wolf, and she reached across the table and patted his hand in answer to his silent question. 

“It’s fine, Derek. It’s an old story, and there’s no sting left in it for me,” Judi said. “We should get comfortable though, maybe get someone to bring us something to drink.”

Angelica stood and touched the older woman on the shoulder, “Allow me. Your usual?” Judi nodded, and when the alpha turned to them, Derek asked for tea, and Stiles asked hopefully for hot cocoa. She smiled and left the room on silent feet, and Judi watched her go.

“That one’s a good alpha,” Judi said. “Kind and intelligent, empathetic. She’s been good for our pack, as young as she is.” She picked up the laptop and set off back through the house, drawing a set of sliding doors closed behind her when they crossed the foyer. It separated the ‘guest’ portions of the house from what seemed to be the private ‘pack’ portions. She led them down a hallway and into a room lined with sliding glass doors and big windows that looked out on a lawn and the patio tables he’d seen when they first arrived. The room was filled with plush, sturdy furniture, and smelled of pack and safety. 

Derek chose a place to sit, but Stiles wandered around the room for a moment, looking at the bookcases along one wall, then walked over to the windows to look out across the yard. They watched him until he came back and settled in against Derek’s side. 

“To answer your question, Stiles,” Judi said, when Stiles returned his attention to her, “I’ve been here since 1954, since I was thirteen, when I was bitten.”

“Thirteen!” Stiles said, “were you ill?” 

“No, I was an orphan.” Judi held up a hand to stall Stiles’ questions, and rose to take a tray from Angelica who had just walked into the room. She took a mug of something that steamed, then handed mugs to Stiles and Derek, and finally Judi took a cut crystal glass full of brown liquid for herself. She raised her glass to the light and looked through it, “Bourbon, with a little extra something.” She took a sip and made a noise of satisfaction, then picked up her story.

“I lived in South Carolina, in a church orphanage in Hardeeville right on the Georgia-Carolina border. They told me my mother left me there when my father was killed in Algeria, but I wouldn’t know. There were many children who had stories like mine. I lived there until I was thirteen, and I can’t say much good about that. For my thirteenth birthday, I got a cupcake from the man who lived in the building next door, and then his attention. He didn’t stop, and when I told, I got switched by the Sisters for being a whore. I ran away. I didn’t know I was already pregnant.

“I stole some boy’s clothes off a clothesline, then hid out in the woods along the Savannah River. I was so afraid of the Sisters or that man hunting me down, it never crossed my mind that the woods weren’t much safer. The alpha found me and bit me my second day out, which probably saved my life and a few more besides.” 

The story had a well-polished tone, like she’d told it enough times that it was removed from her, and they were riveted by it. 

“The alpha was not in her right mind, and I had already changed before she came back to herself enough to explain things to me, but it didn’t matter because I’d discovered my fangs and claws on my own, and at that age, I thought that meant nobody could ever get to me again the way that man had done. 

“My alpha had been a victim of a pack annihilation. Poisoned meal. She survived only because she’d been called away from the table before she could eat more than a bite or two. She had a son, a little older than I was, who survived because he’d had dinner with a friend and arrived home only as the others were falling ill.” 

Stiles reached out for Derek’s hand enclosing it tightly in both of his own, and Derek was grateful for the anchor. Judi looked at them both, sadness in her eyes and tapped her nose. “We all know someone. Her story is all of our story.” She took a sip of her bourbon.

“Her son killed himself, and she went feral. She still smelled of sick when she found me in the woods, even to my human senses. She bit me, then she held me in her arms and sang to me, petting and kissing my hair for two nights. Then suddenly she was herself again. I loved her.” 

Stiles sniffled, and moved one hand away from Derek’s to flap it at a nearby box of tissues. “Sorry, I’m a sympathetic crier,” he said. “Please go on.” Derek passed Stiles the box of tissues, then put his arm around him, tucking him in close while Judi resumed her tale. 

“We had nothing but each other, but she wasn’t recovering. Back then, I thought it was because she’d had a little poison, but now I know she had a broken heart. I never knew her quite sane, but she was a good teacher, and I learned control as we ran cross country, posing as father and son. We picked up a few odd field jobs so we could eat, and rail-hopped when people started asking questions. We’d been on the road for a month when she told me she could hear the baby’s heartbeat. That’s how I found out.

“We made it out here to California, but my alpha was losing what little grip she had on her life. She never revealed us, but there were days she’d sit like a statue for hours. Nobody could tell I was pregnant yet, so I went out one afternoon because I’d heard there was a local farmer putting in a walnut orchard and he was paying four dollars a day for labor. It was true, but also he was a werewolf and he sniffed me out quicker than I could blink, and knew I was pregnant. He took me home to his mate, then went out and found my alpha and brought her in too. That was old Alpha Copeland, although he wasn’t that old back then. 

“My alpha stayed with us five months, until my baby was born, which was just long enough to see that she hadn’t harmed him when she turned me, then she crawled off into the woods there,” she pointed out through the windows to the treeline, “and let her broken heart take her. We buried her on the property, and the Copelands adopted me and my baby. I’ve been here ever since.”

Stiles was crying openly, and Derek’s heart ached too. They’d all heard too many stories like this, but he rarely stopped to consider the vastness of their history, and the centuries of their survival. 

“What happened to your alpha, Alpha Copeland that is?” Derek asked. 

“Old age. We lost Mama Copeland about ten years back. Alpha died only a few years ago, and Angelica was already here and ready to step in.” 

Derek turned to the alpha, and he was sure she could read the surprise written on his face, “He passed the spark to you?” 

She smiled at him and replied, “No, I was already an alpha. Another of Alpha Copeland’s strays. I was disowned from my pack, they were isolationists out in Idaho, and very traditional, and I wanted to go to University, so I left. I met a girl up at Oregon State where I ended up going to school, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I followed her home. I got these,” she flashed her eyes, “when some idiot tried to take her away from me. Fortunately for me, the Alpha and Judi were happy to teach me how to live up to the gift I’d been given.”

“Well, I could hardly turn out the love of my granddaughter’s life, now, could I?” The two women smiled at each other, and Stiles sniffled again. 

“You guys are killing me,” he said, and Angelica laughed.

An easy lull settled upon them, except for the bouncing of Stiles’ leg, which Derek knew meant he was planning to ask something difficult. He was unsurprised when he turned to the alpha and asked, “Did Monroe’s goon squad make it out here?”

Angelica blinked once, her face smoothing out into a blank expression, “They made it as far as Anderson.”

“Not here?” Stiles asked. Derek watched the two women carefully, and caught the glance that passed between them, the scent of fresh grief, and he knew. 

“How many?” he asked. 

“One,” Angelica said.

“My youngest grandson’s mate,” Judi added. She swallowed down the rest of her bourbon, then rose and stalked over to the windows. While she regained her composure, the alpha gave them a brief accounting.

“You saw the young man at dinner, sitting next to the pregnant redhead?” Stiles nodded, and Angelica said, “That’s Victor, Judi’s grandson. The girl is his sister-in-law, Frankie. She’s seventeen, she’ll be eighteen in two weeks, we think the baby will come soon after that. Victor’s mate, Jaime, came from a small family pack in Anderson. One of Monroe’s hunting parties killed their family and set up a small base in their home. They kept the girl. For sport,” the alpha spit. Derek shuddered, and Stiles gripped his hand tighter. “She wasn’t the only one they had there.”

“We went to rescue them,” Judi said. “The two boys, me, a couple of wolves from Shasta City, and your uncle Peter, who has always come when I called. We all took damage, but Jaime… there was too much wolfsbane. We buried him here.”

“The baby?” Stiles asked softly.

“Who do you think?” Judi said, her voice coarse with anger. “But they paid for their war crimes. Peter helped me scatter the remains.”

“Where are the other girls?” Derek asked.

“Safe,” the alpha said. “There aren’t many packs willing to take in an orphan wolf carrying a hunter’s child, but we are not without allies.” 

“Speaking of…” Judi said, prompting her alpha to change the subject. Right away the heavy air that had fallen over the room lightened a bit. 

Angelica smiled at her, then turned to Derek, “Yes! We have a tradition here on the ranch. The first full moon after our season closes, we have a multipack gathering for a feast and night run. We’d like to extend that invitation to the two of you.” 

Stiles squeaked, then started to laugh, and the three wolves stared at him while he flapped his hands around, “I’m sorry,” he said between giggles, “It’s just, we’ve been on this road trip for, like, six weeks, but there hasn’t been much ‘road’ in it.” 

“Stiles, we don’t have to stay,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles cut him off, “Oh no, Big Bad, I can practically feel you wanting to do that, and if you think I’d miss fluffy wolf you frolicking in the woods, you don’t know me at all.”

“I don’t ‘frolic.’” Derek said, smiling.

“Full shift?” Angelica said, her face lighting up in a huge smile when Derek nodded. “How’d you like to run with the wolves, Derek? I’m the only full shifter here, but we’ll have at least two others as guests.” 

“We’d be honored,” Derek said, and Stiles elbowed his side a few times, grinning.

* * *

Back in their cabin, they both stripped down to their boxers, and Stiles pulled on a pair of pajama pants before climbing into the bed. It was still quite early, but Derek crawled into the big bed next to Stiles and woke his phone. Judi had sent him the image files from his family photos, and he slowly scrolled through them again, remaining longest at the one of his father scenting him. 

Stiles reached up and turned the screen more towards him. He rubbed his cheek against Derek’s bare shoulder, scenting him in a way that felt especially comforting to him at an essential level. 

“You can really see it here,” Stiles whispered, “how much he loved you.” 

“Yeah.” 

Stiles turned his face into his shoulder, breathing in against his skin, his mood and scent having grown pensive. Derek reached over and put the phone aside and turned off the bedside lamp. The waxing moon cast moonlight over them through the windows, and Derek could see Stiles staring at him wide-eyed, whatever was churning in his mind showing clearly in his expression. His gaze drifted over Derek’s face, down to his chest, then around the room and back to meet his eyes. 

“Do you think the alpha’s son…” the end of the sentence hung between them unsaid. 

“Yes,” Derek whispered. He’d had the same thoughts himself as Judi told her story. It was an old, old tactic.

“Did you ever…” Stiles whispered back, and Derek closed his eyes against the searching look and nodded. 

“Four times,” Derek said, and Stiles sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, and dragged Derek fully into an embrace, pressing his nose into the crown of his head breathing deeply like a wolf would. “The last time almost— Laura came home from work early.” 

He could feel Stiles’ hands trembling against his back, and he wanted, maybe even needed to share the secrets he never could quite leave in the past. “After we found Erica, that morning I took Cora and Boyd to the loft, then drove up to Drury’s Leap.” 

Stiles stopped breathing for a moment, his heart rate dipped and fluttered then steadied, and one hand lifted off Derek’s back and started carding gently through his hair. 

“What stopped you?” Stiles’ shaky words barely more than an exhale.

“Lots of things,” Derek answered. “I still felt like Peter was a danger to you, Scott and Isaac, and I couldn’t trust Allison to leave Boyd alone. I felt responsible for the teacher, for Jennifer. I didn’t want your Dad to be the one to find another dead Hale.” Stiles' fingers stopped moving abruptly, then started the repetitive motion again a few seconds later.

“Not Cora?” he asked.

Derek thought about her and Boyd tearing into him in the school basement, how ready he was to just let them end him. He could still feel the weight of Erica’s body heavy in his arms.

He shook his head slightly, steadying himself with the scent of Stiles’ bare skin. “I thought if I was gone, she’d run back to her old pack. She’d be safe.” He shivered and held on a little tighter. “If I had done it, Cora would have been alone at the loft when the Alpha Pack came.”

“Jesus,” Stiles said. 

They laid there entwined with one another in the quiet, in the moonlight, Stiles stroking Derek’s hair and holding onto him like he’d never let go. Just before he drifted off to sleep exhausted by the confessions, he heard Stiles whisper, “I’m so damn glad you’re alive, Derek.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Judi’s a werewolf! Hahaha, I crack myself up. She has seen some shit. As if you didn’t all expect that. 
> 
> In my world, eye-shine in photos is not a thing. That would make it way too easy for the hunters.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C/W: brief mention of suicide

Derek rolled off the bed just after seven in the morning, internally cursing his morning wood and how much he wanted to stay in the bed. He pulled on a pair of clean sweatpants, ignoring his aroused state, and turned back to look at the bed. Stiles was still asleep, although he grumbled and sighed, rubbing his face in the pillow before he went quiet again, little snores punctuating every third or fourth breath. 

Memories of the previous night crept into his thoughts— the pleasure of being held, the whispered words— and again he felt a glimmer of hope that he wasn’t imagining things, side-by-side with his fears that he was. He wouldn’t risk ruining things because of what could just be a deluded wish for more. He was saturated in and comforted by the scent and touch of this person he loved with everything he had to give, but he couldn’t ruin it by being greedy.

He stood and watched him for a while, admiring the long line of his back, the indents at the top of his sacrum, and the plump swell of his bottom. His gaze tracked back up the line of his spine, then to the unruly hair sticking up in tufts from the pillow, almost as long as he’d ever seen it, and he tried and failed not to imagine what it would feel like to have his hands twisted in it, tugging his head back to expose the line of his throat, and he knew his eyes flickered blue with want. 

Forcing himself to turn quietly away, he snatched up a t-shirt that was lying on the foot of the bed, pausing for only a second when he realized it was Stiles’ then succumbing to the urge and pulling it on over his head. Before he could do anything else stupid, he quietly let himself out and headed over to the main house. Quite a few of the adults of the pack were gathered in the kitchen for breakfast, although not as many as the previous night. Everyone there looked like they were dressed for work, and conversation was brisk around the table. 

Judi’s nostrils flared briefly, and she eyed his sweatpants, worn t-shirt stretched over his chest and his bare feet, then waved him into the seat next to her. Angelica was sitting at Judi’s other side, looking at something on her phone and beaming, her eyes gone shiny with unshed tears. A wiry blond woman wearing an ‘I like smokin’ hot grills’ apron set a plate full of scrambled eggs and smoked ham in front of him, then pointed to a basket of sweet rolls, and a couple of carafes of hot beverages, then returned to the stove where steam was rising from several different pots. 

Derek poured himself a mug of piping hot tea and started on his breakfast while Judi finished hers.

“I was headed out in a bit to check on some fence, but I can take you and Stiles out to meet Timothy for lunch,” Judi said.

“That sounds good, can I help with anything before then?” Derek asked.

“Nah, enjoy your morning, you can ride out with me to check more fences this afternoon if you like. How are you on a horse?”

“Pretty good when I was younger, but it’s been years,” he replied.

“Mmm, I have a mare that would suit you, I think. You game?” she said.

Derek shrugged then nodded his agreement, and she got up, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Alrighty, meet you two back here at eleven for lunch. Tell Stiles to bring his magic Gandalf stick.”

Judi swallowed down the last of her coffee, then got up and kissed the top of the alpha’s head, taking a last look at whatever was on the screen with a happy little noise, then left the room, one of the betas following behind her. 

Angelica drew Derek’s attention when she turned the phone towards him and said, “You want to see?” A look of joy suffused her expression, and he looked at the screen where a tiny, red infant was the center of a photo, a woman with a wild cascade of auburn hair bent over the baby, only the bottom portion of her face visible as she appeared to coo at the baby.

The alpha’s smile was infectious, the scent of her happiness permeated the room. The other werewolves kept sending little glances and happy looks down the table too, as they finished their breakfast and the kitchen emptied out except for the Alpha, the cook, and Derek. 

“It’s our baby, mine and Vivian’s,” she explained, and Derek remembered that was the name of Judi’s granddaughter, the one who had accompanied them on their family excursion so long ago. 

“Congratulations,” he offered, “Is she…” he frowned, not wanting to be rude, but knowing how unusual it would be for a wolf to give birth with anyone other than family.

Thankfully, Angelica didn’t seem bothered, and volunteered, “Adopted, yes.” A small frown dimmed her joy for a moment, then she explained, “The birth mother is one of the girls we rescued. She’s, well, she’s a survivor, but she’s also only sixteen. She was feral when we rescued her, a couple of the girls had been held much longer than Frankie, and once she was able to make the decision, she decided that it would be better for her recovery if she wasn’t caring for a child.” She scrolled through a few more images and tilted the screen back to Derek. 

The image showed several young women in their mid- or possibly late-teens, one visibly pregnant with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, all sitting together on a porch swing.

Derek examined their faces for a moment, knowing that this was the alpha’s way of showing trust. He looked at her, and she set the phone down and said, “I believe you have questions.”

“How many girls did your packs and Peter rescue?” He wasn’t sure why that was his first question, maybe it had something to do with how he always seemed to be looking for confirmation that Peter was better.

Whatever his reasons, it didn’t seem to phase Angelica, who answered, “They had four captives. Three survived. The fourth succumbed to her mental injuries and took her own life before we could help her enough. One chose to stay with us, the other two are at our allied pack up near Frenchglen on the edge of Steens Mountain Wilderness.” 

He nodded, then looked down the long, now empty table as if he could see the pack sitting there. “I noticed that there are a lot of women in the pack.” 

She inclined her head and said, “Yes, Alpha Copeland was committed to taking in not just the victims of speciesist terrorism, but also those who had been subject to domestic abuse. There are a few packs like us hidden about.”

“Ito Pack, when Satomi was still alive, she took in the Talbot survivors,” Derek said. 

Angelica’s eyes glowed crimson. “Yes.” After a moment, her eyes returned to her usual dark brown and she said, “Copeland pack has always had a reputation in particular, as a safe haven for wolves who have been sexually assaulted by hunters. Ito had her own specialty, the Talbot children were not the only survivors of pack annihilation she took in.” 

Derek’s heartbeat stuttered, and the alpha’s expression changed momentarily to a combination of curiosity and sympathy, before she added, “We, and other packs like us, try to help traumatized werewolves and sometimes other shifters, to rest and recover until they’re ready to move on to other packs. A few of them over the years, choose to stay, like Frankie, who wants to raise her cub here. Our emissary, who you’ll meet at lunch, is a practicing psychologist who specializes in counseling for sexual assault, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, things like this.”

“A druid?” he asked, tensing up and closing one hand into a fist on the table. Angelica’s eyes darted down, noting the movement and he forced himself to relax his hand. 

“She is druid-trained, among other things, yes. You’ve had bad experiences with druids.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Mixed bag,” he offered anyway. “The ones we’ve known haven’t always been trustworthy.” It was an understatement that rankled, the betrayals by various druids playing like a highlights reel in his mind. 

The alpha nodded as if she were aware of those thoughts, maybe she was, or maybe she’d experienced some of the same betrayals. In a blended pack like this one, there would be many histories.

“The Oak-Seer is helping out at the convergence,” she pointed out, “do you trust her?” 

He hesitated before answering, “I trust somebody who trusts her.”

“Sometimes, Derek, that’s the best we can do,” Angelica said. When he met her eyes, they were both wise and knowing, and he realized that she was perhaps older and more experienced than he had initially thought. 

“It’s been a difficult few years here too,” she said. “In ordinary times, or, well, what passes as ‘ordinary,’ we don’t worry about hunters too much. Attacking an animal sanctuary would bring too much scrutiny. Monroe’s cause though, fanned by Gerard Argent, defied reason, and it’s likely we’ve been relatively safe only because we’re surrounded by our own land, and have a reputation for being heavily defended, I suppose.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow at that, and she winked at him, “Maybe Judi will feel like sharing. Or ask your uncle.” She grew serious again, and said, “We are indebted to you and your pack for stopping Monroe and her soldiers. I expect they would have made it out here eventually, when they’d finished with the towns.” 

She got up and walked around the kitchen, getting more tea, clicking the electric kettle back on, then brewing a new pot. She came back to the table after a few minutes with an insulated carafe, and poured them each a new mug of tea, setting the carafe between them. 

Derek asked, “Why did you decide to share all of this with me?”

“No one particular reason,” she replied. “Your uncle has helped us, we’ve helped him. We have some things to discuss later that you might want to pass along to your Sheriff. Judi remembered you as a child. We can see you need rest. We’d like to strengthen our relationships with your pack as it evolves… pick one, or pick them all.”

She sat, lips pursed like she was thinking of another reason, and Derek waited while she turned her mug around and around in her hands, the ceramic base making a little scraping noise against the wood of the table.

She cleared her throat and started speaking again, her tone gone oddly formal, “Vivian — my partner— and I had only been back from school for a few months when your family was lost. Alpha Copeland was very shaken by what happened to you and your sister, we all were. And then when you disappeared before we or Alpha Ito could locate you, that should never have happened. We delayed too long before trying to help. On his behalf and on behalf of the Copeland Pack, I offer you my sincere apology for not being there for you. We owe you an obligation.”

He bent his head in recognition of the weight of her regret, old sorrows once again close to the surface. It could have been so different, but there was no way of knowing if that would have been better or worse, if they would have healed and survived, or if the obsessions of the Argents would have brought death and destruction to this pack as well.

“I accept your apology, Alpha. But you owe me no debt,” he said finally.

Angelica sat back, sipping from her mug as she appeared to examine the truth of his words, then smiling slightly, she said, “Well, I have preparations to make. Vivian is on her way home with the cub, she’ll be here late this afternoon and this is the first cub we’ve had in ages. I’m sure it will be shenanigans. It’s pack-only for the welcoming, but I hope to see you and Stiles at dinner.” 

She breezed out of the room, the scent of her happiness wafting through the room in her wake. Derek sat and finished the tea, watching the cook bustling in and out, busy with lists and other tasks of caring for a pack as large as this. His family’s pack had never been as big as this one, but it reminded him of his childhood nonetheless.

* * *

It was after ten when Derek took the rewarmed breakfast plate for Stiles and went back to the cabin. When he opened the door he almost dropped the plate as the scent of arousal and come filled his nose and mouth. He felt his fangs start to elongate, and pressed his lips closed around them, forcing the change back before pushing the door open the rest of the way and walking inside to set the plate down on a little table. 

Without even looking at Stiles, he went into the little bathroom to give himself a chance to recover, then after a minute or two went back into the room. Stiles was standing next to the table, picking at the plate. His hair was damp, and he was barefoot, but otherwise fully dressed in jeans and his usual layers, and he glanced up at Derek with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, dude,” he said, “Just, I seriously thought I was broken, haven’t um, well, it hasn’t really been much of a party down there since…” He turned a splotchy red of embarrassment all the way down his neck. 

Derek couldn’t think of a response that didn’t sound like he was offering his assistance, and he knew the sweats he was wearing would do nothing to hide his own reaction, so he turned around and went back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid. He figured he could stay in there until he was sure he wouldn’t say or do anything stupid. In the meantime, Stiles kept talking at him through the closed door. 

“I opened a window, okay? And cleaned up!” he said. “Wouldn’t want to offend your wolfy senses, geez,” he muttered, probably mostly to himself. Derek heard the clink of silverware against the plate, and a happy noise over the food, then, “You know what, JudgyWolf, I am  _ not sorry. _ I’m a fully functional man again!” He snorted, then quoted to himself, “‘In every way, of course.’” Stiles cackled to himself through a mouthful of food and finished the impression, “‘I am programmed in multiple techniques, a broad variety of pleasuring.’” 

Derek nearly fell off the toilet. 

“Hey buddy,” Stiles called through the door, “you okay in there?”

“Fine,” Derek said in a strangled voice. 

“Ooookay, dude. Just, like, leave that window open when you’re done, you know? I’m gonna give you some privacy.” He laughed again, then said, “I’ll be up at the kitchen, hopefully there’s coffee.”

His phone dinged with a notification just as Stiles left the cabin, and he exited the bathroom to see a text from Peter. 

> Things happening with nemeton. Not bad things. Call me soon for an update. 

* * *

They rode out to the emissary’s place in one of the pickup trucks, carrying a load of timothy grass and alfalfa hay. The pickup had a split-bench, and both Derek and Stiles sat up front, Derek in the middle seat, while the extra cab area was taken up by several plastic totes that bumped and rattled as they made their way back about halfway toward the main gate, then took a turn on a dirt track that ran past a couple of small houses to a modestly sized two-story home next to a large workshop and barn combo. There was a fenced paddock that spread out behind that for about a half-acre.

A woman came out of the workshop, squinting in their direction, and a couple of betas came out from the barn to unload when they pulled up and parked in front of the barn doors. Stiles jumped out of the cab and staggered once before righting himself, before reaching behind the seat to retrieve his staff. Derek automatically put a hand out to steady him, but with the staff in hand, Stiles didn’t really need the help with his balance as much as he had. Derek was always glad to see signs of recovery, as well as that the rune-marked staff seemed to be helping, but he felt a pang at the idea that he wasn’t as necessary.

Stiles was moving forward, his curious gaze roaming over the house, the outbuildings, and the people. The woman from the workshop came closer to meet them, and Judi called out to greet her, “Emissary.” 

Stiles swung around to look at the woman Judi called “emissary,” his mouth hanging open just a little, brow scrunched up in confusion. The woman was like many druids, youthful-looking with warm mid-brown skin that was smooth except for laugh lines around eyes that shone with a sort of casual power that said she was older than she looked, and matched the way she carried herself. There were safety goggles pushed up on top of her head, and her long black hair was streaked through in two places with grey and pulled back into a low ponytail. She was wearing jeans that looked new, but old leather boots and an oversized pendleton shirt with the sleeves folded back, that was marked with stains and a myriad of little round burn marks like embers had landed on it. 

Judi was watching Stiles with a little smile of anticipation, and Derek saw the error right before Stiles walked into it.

“You’re not… Timothy?” he said. “I mean, you could be a Timothy because gender is a social construct and, like, we all assume things, I don’t mean to assume your gender or pronouns or, um, like your name and, just, well. I was told we were going to meet Timothy, Peter Hale says ‘hi’ by the way, um…” 

Judi was all but guffawing, bent over at the waist, and the emissary watched her with twinkling eyes for a moment, before she turned and shouted, “Timothy!” and whistled sharply. Derek heard the response before he saw it, an answering nicker, then the plod of large hooves on packed soil. A draft horse came around the side of the barn and walked up to the fence, leaning his huge head over the top rail and puffing noisy breaths in their direction. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, “I’m an idiot. Fucking Peter, if anyone tells him I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Derek laughed and bumped shoulders with him, and the four of them walked over to the fence to greet the horse. Judi took an apple from her jacket pocket and held it out to the horse, then patted his nose after he took it. 

“So, this is Timothy,” Judi said, “and our emissary is Dr. Emery, and these are Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski.” 

“Please, call me Shane,” she said. 

They leaned on the fence and Shane said, “Timothy is a Belgian, one of our best farmhands, but he’s retired now.” The big horse bobbed his head up and down demanding more face rubs. 

“Did he do the trail rides?” Stiles asked, then his face lit up. “Wait, did  _ Peter  _ do a trail ride?”

“No, he was too cool to do an excursion, but he did ride fences with me,” Judi replied. 

“Peter came here as a teenager, once for a summer, and then a couple of years later when he stayed for about six months. The second time would have been not long after your family visited together,” Shane said. 

“Your mother had her hands full with a couple of situations, and Peter was getting into trouble,” Judi said, “Talia said he needed to spend some time away from temptation before he made any more messes. I guess there was some kind of set to over affairs with older women?”

“Corinne,” Stiles said to Derek.

He nodded, “Possibly, but the timing seems a little off. Maybe he did it again after Corinne?”

“Women, plural?” Stiles pointed out.

“It’s Peter, when did he ever do anything in moderation?” Derek said. “The man bought two Shelbys because he couldn’t decide if he wanted a blue one or a red one.” 

“Three,” Stiles said, “he has the orange one now.” 

“Sounds about right,” Judi said. 

Shane grinned, then went on, “Well, Peter was a handful, but we liked him. He was too smart for his own good, and crafty, but also witty and fiercely loyal to his pack. It was hard for him to be sent away from them,” she said, “but we kept him busy.”

“Talia should have given him more to do for his pack,” Judi said, the same irritated tone as before coming into her voice. It was clear to Derek that his mother and this woman had more history than she had revealed. 

Shane shushed her, then said, “He was at that phase of not-quite-adult when the people who matter still treat you like a child, and he was bored.” She smiled and added, “The more bored Peter got, the more impulsive he was, the less control he had, and the more dangerous choices he was making. I believe your mother sent him here the second time because he was having a negative effect on her own temper and control.” She glanced over at a scowling Judi. “It was probably a good decision, even if some people thought she should have done it differently.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Judi said, “it’s old news, tell them about Peter and Timothy, I’m just a cranky old lady with a soft spot for that kid, don’t mind me.”

Shane hooked her arm through Judi’s, a conciliatory gesture that said a lot about the nature of their friendship, and returned to the story. “We thought we could teach him meditation, but he wasn’t here for more than a day before we knew that wouldn’t work. So Mama Copeland suggested he come out in the mornings and brush Timothy, forelock to fetlock.”

“Wax on, wax off,” Judi said. “Mama loved that movie, said she was going to Mr. Miyagi Peter’s rebellious little ass.” 

Derek laughed, loud and with his head thrown back. He caught Stiles staring at him in delight, and he laughed harder. The image in his mind of his urbane uncle, him of the creature comforts and italian shoes, the modern penthouse and cashmere v-neck sweaters, holding a curry comb on a farm, brushing mud and fly eggs off a horse morning after morning… His laughter tapered off only to bubble out of him again. 

“Wow,” Stiles said when Derek had finally laughed himself out into a sigh. “That was awesome.”

* * *

Over a simple meal of pupusas, cabbage slaw, and sliced avocado, Derek shared with pride, how his baby sister was now the alpha, and how their pack had grown with the addition of the orphaned cubs. Stiles spoke of Heather's pack and how she and the children had only narrowly survived the attack. Judi and Dr. Emery both had many questions about the things they’d learned from Heather, and Derek promised to pass along contact information. 

The emissary was sociable and full of interesting facts, local history, and folklore. She and Stiles meandered through a dizzying array of random subjects during the lunch. She spoke passionately and at some length about the issues facing wild mustangs, and the duty of environmental stewardship that gave their ranch its guiding principles. 

“How does that work, wolves and horses? Why don’t they see you as predators?” Stiles asked. 

“Are you kidding?” Judi said, “Two Socks and Cisco?” 

Shane rolled her eyes at Judi, then again when neither Derek nor Stiles got the reference. “Dances with Wolves,” she said. “The horse and the wolf? Judi never met a conversation she couldn’t throw a movie or TV reference into.” 

“My dad never let us watch it,” Derek said. “He said it would give little werewolves bad dreams.” 

Shane smiled and said, “I liked your daddy the one time I met him, he was very sweet, and he was probably right about the movie. Our horses aren’t any more wary of us than they would be of a human caretaker, they’re more dependent on sight than smell to identify predators, and we usually ride out on our own horses or in vehicles for welfare checks. They’re wild though, so we don’t get up too close, and we stay away from the herd during moon runs.” 

“There are more than a few werewolf run animal sanctuaries,” Judi said. “I suppose you wouldn’t find many werewolf sheep farmers,” she mused, then she got up from the table and started gathering the remnants of the meal.

“Doc, why don’t you get started telling these two about the rumors you’ve been hearing,” Judi said, “I’ll clean this up while you talk.”

They watched her tuck away her social face and instead present her professional persona. 

“How ‘retired’ would you say Christopher Argent is?” she asked. Going by Stiles’ expression, he was just as surprised as Derek was. 

Stiles was the first to answer. “As far as I know, completely, but I’m sure he maintains his contacts,” He looked at Derek, both brows raised in what looked like an invitation to confirm this, but Derek felt a trickle of dread inching its way up his spine.

“Is there something we ought to know?” he asked. 

“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Dr. Emery said. “I have only a handful of very concerning rumors. I was planning to reach out to the packs currently in Beacon Hills, including the Sheriff,” she dipped her chin at Stiles in acknowledgment of the connection, but kept her eyes on Derek. “It just seemed fortuitous when you two showed up here.” 

Derek lowered his eyes to his hands, his mouth pulled down as he thought about the most relevant information to offer. 

After a few moments, he said, “The hunter is probably the most closely tied to Alpha McCall. He has been helpful to us, at times, but his decisions have not always prioritized the safety of the pack.” He stopped and thought again, and the doctor calmly withheld a reaction while he determined what else he wanted to say. It was probably her training, he thought briefly, but it was helpful. 

“Up until recently, I would have said he’s retired from hunting, and I would have considered him a pack ally. I’ve worked directly with him several times,” Derek said.

“But?” Shane prompted.

Stiles spoke up then. “But my dad doesn’t trust him much. And his psycho family may all be dead now, and good riddance, but when they were still alive he didn’t do anything to stop them from being mass murderers.” 

“Your dad and the new alpha have been looking into some things,” Derek told Stiles. “I get the impression they’re more recent than when Gerard and Kate were still alive.” 

“Yeah, and Peter doesn’t trust him, even if he’s willing to use him when it’s convenient,” Stiles said.

“Isaac doesn’t either,” Derek replied, and Stiles looked surprised. “You heard what he said, but when he said it, he smelled of revulsion for a second. I meant to ask him about it, but with everything else, I forgot.” He frowned, then glanced back over to Shane, who had been observing their entire interaction. 

“Interesting,” she said. “Seems there may be some merit to the rumors.”

Judi turned away from her kitchen tasks and leaned against the counter, arms folded over her chest. 

“And what would those rumors be, Dr. Emery,” Derek asked.

Judi answered, “Word is, if your eyes aren't gold, don't go to Beacon Hills."

“We’ve lost contact with a few displaced shifters who were planning to head that direction, that would lend weight to the rumor,” Shane added, a worried look creasing her forehead.

Derek exchanged a troubled look with Stiles, then said, “I think you need to call Sheriff Stilinski.” Stiles nodded. 

* * *

Stiles stayed behind after lunch at the emissary’s suggestion that there was more to learn about his staff, as well as the promise that he could spend some time brushing Timothy. They both thought if he was going to be around for a week, the exercise might help him regain some of the strength and dexterity he’d lost in his right hand.

Derek left him there with only a manageable level of worry, and drove back with Judi to the corral, where the two horses he’d seen the previous day had been saddled for them. They rode out some distance at a moderate pace which Derek knew was because of his long-unused horse skills, although his enhanced agility made up for some of his inexperience. 

It was a long afternoon that left Derek with time to think about the child the alpha and her mate were adopting, the other cub on the way, and Peter’s new family. When Judi turned around to head back for the day, after testing and marking several spots along the fenceline that needed repairs, Derek called out to her. 

“Judi? The Alpha was telling me earlier that your pack has a reputation for taking in survivors of certain types of trauma,” Derek said. 

“Yep, sexual assault, mostly,” she answered, her manner very matter-of-fact.

“Does the Steens pack specialize also?” he asked, thinking of the refugees who had still been coming into Beacon Hills when he left. He still wasn’t sure how involved Peter was in helping, especially as things continued to deteriorate with Scott and the new pack integrated into Beacon Hills. 

“Mmhmm, up there, they take in the wolves who have nowhere else to go. The ones who have been most fractured, brainwashed, tortured. The shifters even a code-abiding hunter would put down,” Judi said.

“Ferals?” Derek asked. 

“Even them,” she replied. “They do their best to reach them one way or another. If they can eventually be settled into a new pack, or in cases where some of their pack remains, sent home, so much the better. But for any who can’t reintegrate, or who need more time, like the little one’s birth mother, there’s a safe home there.” 

He thought again about the way he was right after the fire, and how things might have been different if they’d had a safe place to hide right after. He considered how dire things might have been for Heather and her pack if not for the assets she had access to, and how isolated little Ramona and her brothers had been in spite of it. And he couldn’t help but think of Laura, trying to protect both of their lives as well as their sanity, with no support. 

Derek thought back on times he’d been an omega, and times he’d felt the hopelessness of nowhere to go. After a long while, he said, “Is there anything they need that I can help with?” 

“Money,” Judi said immediately, then added, “Discretion. What they do isn’t exactly a secret, but it’s not well-known either.”

Derek didn’t often concern himself with the details of his inheritance, preferring to leave that up to Peter and the family’s financial planner, but he knew they had more than they could use, even with the pack expanding as it was. He made a mental note to talk it over with Peter soon.

They made it back to the barn and dismounted, a teenaged boy meeting them to lead the horses away. Derek headed up to the house to get cleaned up, tired with muscles that ached pleasantly after the long ride, and he felt useful. It was a good feeling. 

* * *

He followed Stiles’ heartbeat into the guest lounge before dinner. He could hear a crowd of people at the other end of the house in the family room, having the first meeting of the infant, and he smiled, remembering the gatherings they’d had for Cora and his younger cousins. Stiles was looking at some of the framed pictures on the walls, and he turned and held an arm out to Derek as he approached. He moved in close enough to take a couple of deep breaths against the side of his head, and Stiles wrapped his arm loosely around and brushed his palm across Derek’s neatly trimmed beard.

“No more mountain man,” he pouted. 

“It was itchy,” Derek said, and Stiles must have been distracted by one of the photos because he curled his fingers and scratched lightly at the stubble along Derek’s jaw. He couldn’t help the little shiver that escaped him, or the disappointment when Stiles’ hand dropped away. 

Before the silence could get awkward, Stiles said, “I’m going to call my dad and get an update, anything you want me to tell him?” 

Derek remembered the text Peter sent, and Stiles said he’d ask about that at the same time. To give him some privacy, Derek went out to the porch and sat on the steps just cloud watching. Stiles came out after a while, carrying an oversized coffee mug, which Derek absolutely did not look at judgingly, and Stiles absolutely did not smirk and take a huge gulp of coffee before sitting down on the step next to him.

“Dad says there’s no news on Scott,” Stiles said. “He’s still holed up at the clinic apartment. His dad and one of his guys are posted up outside the main entrance, it sounds like they’ve got the clinic more or less surrounded and they’re just going to sit there. Agent McCall has been updating my dad since he’s still officially the Sheriff, but somehow they’ve convinced the rest of the team to just wait him out instead of going in after him.” He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine, and tugged at his hair with the hand not holding his mug. “Man, this sucks,” he said. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked.

“What, about Scott? Yeah I guess. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but I guess I’ve already done my five phases or whatever when it comes to realizing I can’t keep trying with him. Maybe someday, if he ever gets his head out of his ass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why the fuck should you be sorry?” Stiles said, the anger in his tone not directed at Derek, but potent all the same. “All you’ve ever tried to do is help him. If he turned it down because he didn’t like the tone of your delivery, that’s on him. I just, I don’t like that my dad is going back into the middle of this whatever it is with Deaton, and now Scott’s gone off the rails, it’s dangerous.”

“Peter won’t let anything happen to him,” Derek said.

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No I can’t, but your dad is more competent than your average cop to begin with, and Peter is…”

“Yeah, Peter is Peter. It’s not like I could do anything anyways,” Stiles says bitterly.

Derek wisely said nothing to that.

“So… we’re staying for the moon run?” Stiles said and leaned into Derek a little. 

Derek nodded and said, “I want to, if that’s still okay with you.”

“Yeah! I don’t get to see fluff-you nearly enough,” Stiles said. “Besides, Dad suggested we should stay put through at least the full moon, longer if we can work it out, because the Emissaries are going to start the first part of a ritual to heal the nemeton, and they said it could have an effect on me.”

“The ‘darkness,’” Derek said. 

“Yeah.” Stiles gripped the mug tightly enough his knuckles turned white, then red as he relaxed and the blood flowed back in. “They think the New Moon might be the tough one. He said we might not want to be out on the road for that.” 

“We don’t need to go back?” Derek replied. “Would that be safer for you?” 

“Nope, he said something about three emissaries, three alphas, and three Hales, now that Cora’s back.”

He sat still for a moment then took his phone from his pocket, brow furrowed and clicking the screen on and off, then his entire body twitched like he was trying to shake it off. “Oh yeah, and I talked to Jax earlier. He said he’s coming out for Thanksgiving, to meet Cora before he moves back. It might be kind of nice to see him,” he added, “if we’re within a reasonable distance. He said he might be willing to come to us if we don’t want to go back.” 

“We’ll make it happen,” Derek said.

* * *

Dinner was a boisterous affair, even more so than the previous evening, with the infant being passed between her mothers and great-grandmother, and the excitement of the whole pack over their tiny new packmate. She was swaddled in a small patchwork quilt that Derek knew would have been scented carefully by the closest family within the pack, so she would adapt quickly.

They got to peek at her themselves, when dinner was over and some of the pack gathered in the family room and spilled out onto the lawn through the glass doors in an impromptu dessert picnic. One of the betas made an elaborate ‘welcome’ cake in the shape of Stitch from the cartoon, with tiers and fondant. Several children zoomed around the grass, hyped on the excitement, and Derek could see the pack was quite a bit bigger than he’d initially thought. It was obvious that some of them took meals in their own homes, elsewhere on the property.

That it was not a small family pack probably helped Derek to feel more at ease, with less of the sombre nostalgia than he otherwise might have experienced. 

* * *

The second day passed similarly, except that Stiles made it in for breakfast, then went back down to work with the emissary and groom Timothy again, and Derek headed out with Judi and a couple of the other betas to work on the fence she’d marked for repairs. 

Dinner was quieter than the previous night, with what looked like only immediate family to Judi and the Alpha showing up at the main house, and feeling a little bit like intruders, Derek and Stiles excused themselves early, and went back to the cabin to relax. He wasn’t at all surprised when they both fell asleep only a few minutes into watching a movie.

* * *

They were jarred awake in the pre-dawn light by the sound of Stiles’ phone going off with Noah’s ringtone. Derek reached across and slid his thumb across the screen, then set it between them. 

“Noah, it’s Derek, you’re on speaker.” Stiles pushed himself up to a sitting position and scrubbed both hands over his face before throwing a worried glance at Derek.

“Good,” Noah said. “I’ve got a lot of news, and it’s not good. Stiles? You awake, son?” 

“Yeah, dad, go ahead, I’m ready.” 

“Alright, save your questions for the end,” Noah said, then started talking as if giving a report, which wasn’t all that inaccurate. 

“Last night, shortly before midnight, Scott left the clinic in apparent surrender. Agent McCall was there to receive him, but rather than allowing himself to be taken into custody, he attacked and bit his father.” 

“Shit,” Stiles said softly, and Derek’s gaze jerked up to find him entirely focused on the phone screen.

Noah continued, “Agent McCall’s partner drew on him and Scott assaulted him as well, then fled the scene on foot. Rafael is at Beacon Memorial, being treated for the bite, concussion, and lacerations. The other agent did not survive his injuries and was pronounced on scene. There were two more agents posted on the back entry. They arrived at the front within less than a minute, and they said there were several shots fired, but we had no way of knowing if Scott was wounded, there was too much contamination at the scene.”

“Did he—” Stiles started.

“Hang on, Stiles, I’m not done,” Noah said. “At oh’three hundred, we had a silent alarm at Argent’s. Parrish responded, along with another deputy who’s supe-aware, and they found Argent injured but conscious with deep claw lacerations to his torso and punctures in the back of his neck. He’ll recover, but he said it might be deep enough to turn him. He said—” he was interrupted by a voice Derek identified as Chris, and they both heard Noah curse. He came back on the line, “He said that Scott stole a laptop. Derek, Argent LoJacked the Camaro, son of a bitch.”

Stiles heartbeat had been speeding up through the report, but at that, it rabbited irregularly for a second, and the two of them locked eyes, the betrayal Derek felt reflected in Stiles’ eyes as well.

“Goddammit,” Noah said, “Okay, we’ll deal with that in a minute. Argent said that Scott had two bullets in him, wolfsbane, that Argent was able to provide an antidote for. Scott left on foot and gave no indication where he was going, but among those Chris specifically remembers him mentioning were Liam, Peter, and you, Stiles.” 

“Melissa?” Stiles croaked, his scent thick with anxiety. 

“She’s fine, Scott was spotted in the neighborhood, but we weren’t able to detain him, and we already had Mel in protective custody,” Noah said. “Derek?”

“Still here, Sir,” Derek answered.

“It’s been six hours since Rafe was bitten, and he’s not rejecting, but it’s not healing either,” he said. “What do you know about that?” 

“I— you should ask Peter, but unless he’s immune, like Lydia or other fae— it will be one or the other,” Derek said.

“Can’t ask Peter right now. He and Malia are taking the kids out to some resort. Malia’s going to stay there with them until we have a handle on this. One of Adina’s betas went with them. Peter will be back in a few hours.” 

“Dad, what about you? If he’s willing to attack Chris…” Stiles said.

“I’ve got Liam with me, everyone has been put on alert, and anyone who’s potentially at risk will have support. Cora and Isaac are on their way to Lydia.” 

“You think she’s in danger?” Derek asked.

“Not taking any chances with pack, Son,” Noah replied. “Listen, I gotta go, but get that LoJack off your car. If you can keep it turned on, try to get it elsewhere if you can. It’s mounted to the underside of your battery platform. Peter said you’ll be well protected where you are, but we’re sending some backup to you. I’ll leave you to work that out with your host pack. I’ll update you when we know more,” he said, “and Stiles?” 

“Yeah, dad,” Stiles replied.

“Love you, kiddo. Be safe, keep your eyes open,” Noah said.

“Love you too, dad. Be careful.”

Noah disconnected, and they both sat motionless for a few minutes in shock and horror. 

“Scott killed someone,” Stiles said in a flat whisper.

“He bit his own dad,” Derek said, which felt like the greater taboo. 

“Claws, do you think he…” Stiles was pale, and he swallowed against the words he couldn’t even speak.

“Took memories from Chris, yes.” 

“What do we do now?” 

Derek squared his shoulders and got up from the bed and started getting dressed. “Deal with the LoJack, then go talk to the Alpha.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Scott. 
> 
> There was soooo much I wanted to put in this section, but most of it was just me rambling about conservation, ecology, and horses. :) Your comments and kudos are love and fuel. 
> 
> Author notes, aka: Herein be politics. 
> 
> Interesting fact that I cut from the story because the timeline didn’t fit, a 2300+ acre parcel of land known as Humbug Valley, south of Lassen, was transferred back to the Maidu Summit Consortium, around 150 years after it was stolen from them. The Maidu name for it is Tásmam Koyóm. 
> 
> https://www.plumasnews.com/humbug-valley-returned-to-maidu-summit-consortium/
> 
> Copeland Ranch is not real, it’s a mashup of working refuges and sanctuaries for wild horses and burros. There is, in fact, a wild horse sanctuary in Shingletown, and Copeland Ranch is imagined from this sanctuary and another in Bend, OR called Skydog. Sadly, I have yet to visit either one. However, there are sanctuaries like this in a number of States, from the type of refuges that were enabled by the efforts of Wild Horse Annie, that helped get protections back in 1971, to dude ranches that participate in rescue efforts, to a 40,000 acre refuge that spans parts of Wyoming and Montana, called Pryor Mountains Wild Horse Range. 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Velma_Bronn_Johnston 
> 
> Warning: the links below are not an easy read, as they describe some of the history of deliberate eradication of millions of feral horses. So be wary if you’re sensitive to animal abuse, or skip it entirely. I think a lot of us in the Teen Wolf fandom have more than the average awareness of the hunting to near extinction of wolves in North America, and the blatant capitalist interests that interfere with species recovery. The tale of wild horses in America has a similar trajectory.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pryor_Mountains_Wild_Horse_Range
> 
> Some of these refuges and sanctuaries offer horse adventures, camps for young people, and work-vacation programs. Preservation of wild horses, and also native horses, is a facet of racial equality for indigenous people. (see also: water justice and food apartheid) 
> 
> Much of the destruction of wild horse herds is justified by claiming that as an introduced species, they should be regarded as invasive, and eradication should be the goal. However, the genetic history of horses in North America is in dispute. 
> 
> This article is an interesting read, https://www.yesmagazine.org/environment/2020/04/27/native-horses-indigenous-history/
> 
> Free range wild horses, wild mustangs and burros, are at odds with cattle and livestock industries that depend on nearly unfettered access to BLM lands that they lease for very low sums. (BLM in this case means Bureau of Land Management.) Some ranchers are decent stewards of the land, within the scope of their interests, but some act blatantly without regard to the sustainability and ecology of that land. (See: the events leading up to the Occupation of Malheur.) 
> 
> I know some people try to say this is all “just” fanfiction, but a lot of my personal concerns get woven in, hopefully in a thoughtful way. Things like cultural anthropology, environmental justice, racial justice (and bigotry, because Argents, amirite?) heteronormativity, consequences, mental health, etc. 
> 
> I mean, I like the light, fluffy stuff as much as smut and/or angst, but sometimes the Big Idea gets mushed in there, and I am here for it.


End file.
